


Unexpected Liaisons

by KenrakenOkwaho



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Ancient Greece, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Feels, Forgive Me, Gods, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Legends, Light Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Smut, Omega James, One-Sided Attraction, Porn With Plot, Post-Curse of the Black Pearl, Sea Monsters, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slash, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Smut, Soulmates, Tattoos, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, not soulmates AU at all in fact, not the usual kind of soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-12-24 09:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12009690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenrakenOkwaho/pseuds/KenrakenOkwaho
Summary: In a world that doesn't value Omegas at all, one James Norrington finds it difficult to keep his status as a strong Alpha and Commodore when, in reality, he is an Omega fantasising about one infamous Jack Sparrow who, unknown to James, experiences the same urges. They've been struggling with this attraction for a while, but there's just so much more to it than they initially thought.Or: The one in which being A/B/O has some sort of relevance, but it is not the main point.ON HIATUS!





	1. Want, Desire, Fantasies, Frustration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Odoroki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odoroki/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, I know, but I hope it's entertaining, though it doesn't have a solid plot yet. Also, forgive me for the questionable chapter title, my brain isn't cooperating with me right now. On another note, I was MIA for quite some time and I'm sorry, but between moving to another country and meeting new people while I have a serious case of anxiety, writing just didn't find its place. I'm hoping for a glorious return to the land of archivers and a quick inspirational recovery these days!
> 
> Enjoy and Feedback, I am in a terrible need to know your opinion! Hugs!

Hazy eyes struggle to stay open as another wave of heat drowns his sensitive body under its tide, blood thrumming through his veins like a wild torrent raging to the surface of his burning skin with want while trickles of sweat sluice down his forehead and face. In moments like these, when lucidity barely flickers in his blurry mind and desire governs every action, James curses his parents, he curses his luck and fate, he curses God for hexing him with the burden of being born an Omega in a world that either sees his kind as breeding material or doesn't acknowledge their existence at all. In moments like these, he wishes that a miracle would happen and, one day, he will wake up to find out he is a proud Alpha, fit for the position of power his father forced him to work for so hard, his rank as Commodore in the British Royal Navy in Port Royal, he will wake up free of this damn weight pressing on his shoulders, purely and utterly free. In moments like these, James also curses himself for yearning more for a strong body to lay down on his rather than be an Alpha, to merge with him and move inside him deeper and deeper, harder, faster until he loses his senses, he longs to be marked, to have each and every part of him worshiped with kisses, nibbles and bites for the whole world to see that he belongs, that he just _belongs_.

 

Instead, he is literally locked in the safe confines of his room for the next three to five days, desperate and alone with his hands as the sole lovers who can make him writhe and moan in the fog of his heat. In hindsight, this should not have happened at all, he has always been careful to take his herbal suppresants, but, strangely enough, the usual concoctions didn't seem to work and the result almost caused his entire being to go haywire in the middle of the Dauntless' deck with his men, his mostly _Alpha_ men running around to do their assigned jobs. Thankfully, he noticed the first signs of his cycle soon enough to find a plausible excuse to leave and rush back home in order to disappear for the next few days. This is the first time he wasn't prepared for such a surprise and he's hoping no one took a good whiff of his changing scent or he's in major trouble. He's praying that it will be the last such incident as well, but, considering his typical misfortune, he's praying in vain to a deaf deity.

 

Yet what is the most frustrating aspect of this experience as a whole is that the only images tormenting his brain with erotic sensations are of one famous, despicable, bloody pirate he met a year ago in unfortunate circumstances. Before Sparrow, he had always thought that Elizabeth would be the one whom he will share his bed with, a beautiful, wild, kind and strong Alpha woman he fell in love with quite unexpectedly. But no, fate laughed at him yet again the second he started fantasising about the unscrupulous miscreant. To his horror, he didn't even have to be in heat to feel his blood boil and his insides knot and twist with desire at the simple dream of Jack grinding into him with slow, leisure thrusts, tongue lavishing the column of his neck all the way up to his bitten lips.

 

Just the mere thought of what could be if he lets go of his composed persona makes his hand lower sensually towards his weeping cock, beads of pre-cum dribbling down the turgid flesh, making the friction painfully sweet when he starts pumping with vigour. It's not enough, he knows it's not enough as he lifts his hips up, fingers prodding at his twitching entrance before sliding into the sleek passage yearning to be filled. The need raking each muscle in his body is absolute torture, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine with every stroke against the bundle of nerves hidden deep inside.

 

It ends the way it started, hurried and unsatisfying, but James is sated enough to close his sea-green orbs and sleep for the next hour or so until the ordeal starts once more and illusions of what can never be start haunting him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: kenrakenokwaho.tumblr.com


	2. The Wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here's that bit of plot y'all have been waiting for probably :)) Sorry, guys, but I'll keep the chapters short for a while, still haven't gotten over my writer's block. I do hope this chapter isn't too confusing, 'cause I kinda deviated a bit from the Alpha/Omega basics, and I also hope it sparks some interest. I promise I'll try to conceive more elaborate chapters from now on. How successful my attempts will be, one may never know.
> 
> Enjoy and Feedback! Hugs and Kisses!

 

The night is fairly young when Jack stumbles out of the tavern breathing erratically, pupils blown so wide that only a sliver of his dark chocolate orbs remains visible in the moonlight. Arousal hangs hot and heavy in the air, sending shivers up his spine and goosebumps all over his flushed skin, prick painfully hard between his trembling legs, the world spinning uncontrollably with the effort to keep himself upright, nothing but a whirlpool of drunk noises and dismal colours that numb all of his senses except one... God... the scent is overwhelming, it makes his knees buckle even more than they already do, invading both his mind and body with its delightful wave of sweetness as he desperately tries to find a place to hide and give in to his lust. How the scoundrels around him are unaffected by it is a mystery. Where it's coming from is an even bigger dilemma. Why he seems to be the only one sent into a full-on rut because of it is plainly impossible to comprehend.

 

When he finally hunches over in a half-isolated alleyway, hand rubbing vigorously up and down the heated flesh of his soon to be knot, everything's lost on him, the brawls on the streets, the giggles of the whores, the sounds of breaking glass, it's just him and the delicious friction of his wet skin. It doesn't take long to reach his peak, speeding up his movements with each passing second. He doesn't expect the mirage of all too familiar sea-green eyes that suddenly sets his nerves ablaze through his synapses, a deep growl reverberating in his chest as he cums, thick spurts of semen dripping to the dirty ground while he struggles to control his spasming muscles and lungs. The fragrance is gone, vanished into thin air and replaced by the salty breeze of Tortuga as it ruffles the tangled mane that is his hair. Those eyes... he's seen those eyes, he _knows_ those eyes better than their noble owner gives him credit for, so judgemental and guarded, yet capable of such kindness and compassion that they surprise him every time. Those lively jewels are Jamie's eyes, the Commodore he still has a problem accepting he fancies. Well... considering what happened moment ago, the pirate thinks it would be better phrased as 'desires' rather than fancies, he is brave enough to admit that. Despite that, there is one tiny, not so tiny problem... the man is an Alpha, just like Jack and if attempting to woo him would be nigh impossible, fucking him would be a death sentence. This, however, doesn't stop Jack from conjuring up as many fantasies as he can about a very handsome, very naked British Navy officer spread before him like the most delectable buffet he has ever witnessed.

 

It's almost frightening that such a simple thought is accompanied by more excitement than the next bottle of rum he's definitely going to drink.

 

◇◇◇

 

Darkness, abysmal darkness mingles with the cold water of the depths, creatures of the most terrifying nightmares lurking in sand and mud, hiding from their wrathful father who is crawling back and forth restlessly in trepidation. They watch with curious stares, they know the day has come and they all dread it, but can do nothing to change the mind of their king , his feelings and stubborn belief that he can fight something he has no power over. What has been prophesied cannot be changed, cannot be altered, not even by gods, it is set in time, it is set in ancient stone, constant, immutable, meant to follow its course until it ultimately fulfills its settled purpose.

 

Soon, a meek voice interrupts their father's musings, spiky legs stopping their agitated pacing whilst golden eyes narrow in irritated expectation.

 

"The wave has manifested, milordos."

 

Instant uproar ripples through the crowd of sea-monsters who are no longer cowering but protesting amongst themselves. A raised hand halts their voices just as quickly, the torch gripped between pale fingers lighting up gradually, revealing chiseled features sullen with determination.

 

They know what this means for their king, they know what this means for their queen, they know what it means for all of them. Prophecies never lie and this one is no different... if they do not stop it, their king's selfishness and ignorance will only bring with them extermination and destruction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milordos is the mot-a-mot translation of milord in Greek.


	3. Wayward Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, here it is! The third chapter of this surprisingly appreciated story. I thought that it will take me some time to write it, but inspiration shocked me with its power and I managed to put it together quite fast. As you can see, it involves a slight timeskip and, this time, it is longer, as promised. I hope it's just as entertaining as the other two, even if smut isn't part of it and I may have moved a little fast, but there was no need to delay the events of this chapter further. I really tried to keep it as interesting as I could. Hugs!

A week passes before his heat begins to subside. After that, it takes three more days for it to end and, by the time it does, James is a barely functioning human being covered in gallons of sweat and half-dried body fluids, chestnut hair sticking in all directions while he tries to regain a semblance of control after the heat that could have destroyed not only his reputation, but also his entire life. It's fair to say he is a ruffled mess who's still debating if the woman who gave him the usual dose of suppressant mixture should be punished or not. She's been doing that for quite some time, it always worked... there is something quite bizarre about this burst of pheromones deciding to take over him, something that he feels is about to change everything not only for him, but for those around him as well. One thing is for sure, he's certainly considering the idea of changing the source of his suppressants if he doesn't figure out what exactly went wrong.

 

Sitting up from the drenched and rumpled sheets of his bed, he struggles to get on his feet, every part of his body aching along with his head and cracking bones while he takes a few shaky steps towards the cold bath prepared for him the day he came running back to his mansion, flushed and disheveled from panic and lust. Aside from a few concerned stares and one maid who asked if he was all right, no one dared to meddle with him, simply doing as requested once he reached his room. In retrospect, his real status is probably no secret to his servants by now. Fortunately, they are all loyal Betas who won't whisper a word to anyone else beside each other, not because of fear, but because James has never mistreated them like other nobles and soldiers do. As silly as it might sound, he has an inherent compassionate nature and he always believed in equality, even though he rarely shows it to anyone outside his most trusted circle of people. It's amusingly ironic that said circle consists solely of his servants, Governor Swann and Lieutenant Groves, both men discovering his secret by pure accident. Why they chose to turn a blind eye is not exactly clear to the Commodore, perhaps because they see him as a son and brother, perhaps because their kindness has no limits, either way, he will always be indebted to the two, a fact he is not very happy about, but he came to accept.

 

The water cools his skin with its icy shroud so sharply that his muscles spasm with the effort to stay still as it washes away any evidence of the days spent in carnal agony, head lolling back to rest on the hard edge of the tub. He's been waiting for this moment of respite from the moment he sensed the beginning of cycle, the peacefulness of knowing his torture is over and his mind once again clear. Peculiarly enough, his nose seems to still inhale the musky scent that surrounded him during his heat, so familiar, so comforting and strong and... with no obvious source whatsoever. His senses tell him that it filled his lungs before, but he can't put his finger on when or where yet. It feels like a connection... To whom? He doesn't know, but he will find out.

 

When everything is settled and his uniform is back on him in all its pristine glory, he glances at the small bottle of mixed herbs on his desk. His scent has somewhat changed, less sweet, less potent, but still not neuter enough for him to pass as a Beta. If he takes the suppressant, there are only two possibilities, either it work or it doesn't. With a determined look he chooses to risk, downing the liquid in one go before finally summoning the courage to step outside and into the world he hasn't seen in a while. He is greeted with surprising joy by the workers teeming around the mansion, smiles and words of welcoming directed at him on his way out. The same cannot be said about his walk to the docks, people of all social classes staring at him as if he is a ghost, but, fortunately not reacting as if they can sniff him out. Truth be told, almost two weeks flew by since he was last spotted, but that doesn't mean that he was dead. Ignoring each curious look thrown his way, he proudly continues his stroll until the Interceptor meets his eyes in the distance, soldiers rushing around, preparing the ship to sail for a reason he'll be subjected to sooner than expected as he is pulled into an alcove.

 

Instinct kicks in at the very first contact, struggling to pry off the tanned hand covering his mouth, yet careful to not let the blade hovering over his throat cut his skin. Any further attempts of escaping cease the second a slurry voice he knows oh so well whispers in his ear, far too close for comfort.

 

" 'ello, luv."

 

Green eyes widen in shock. _Sparrow_. James honestly didn't expect to find the pirate in Port Royal again so soon after all that transpired, yet here he is, pressed so sinfully close that he can feel every contour of that lithe body grinding against his back whilst Jack's breath tickles the side of his neck with the saccharine aroma of rum. If only alcohol was the only thing setting his nostrils on fire... An all to intimate fragrance stirs his senses and he instantly realises that it is the same fragrance he thought he deliriously picked up in his heat addled days. He darns his body when a wanton shudder vibrates through it, no matter how hard he tries to repress it, hoping in vain that maybe his captor didn't notice. An airy chuckle indicates otherwise.

 

"You smell funny, mate. New cologne?"

 

The question is shadowed by the slight caress of the buccaneer's nose trailing up his neck only to stop at the sensitive spot behind his ear and inhale deeply. Fear sends his heart skyrocketing and he's frozen, utterly frozen to the spot until he feels the palm over his lips loosen its pressure and the weapon subconsciously lower slightly, giving him the awaited opening to twist it out of Sparrow's hand. In a blur of movements, he grabs the pirate by the wrist, elbowing him in the stomach before he whirls around, blade gripped tightly as it grazes Jack's neck, their roles reversed in a matter of moments. Narrowed eyes glare at the smirking scoundrel, desire fighting to overpower his apprehension when he sees the other's hungry look, pupils blown wide and twinkling with mischief. Damn him! 

 

Gathering his wits as best as he can, James resolves to ignore the previous interaction in hopes that maybe the slyboots didn't figure out that he is an Omega.

 

"Well, well, Sparrow. Didn't I give you a head start? Oh, but what can one expect from a fool if not for him to return where death awaits."

 

There's silence for a short while, dark orbs literally peering inside his soul with intensity until the pirate decides to speak, completely ignoring the Commodore's statement in favour of spewing outrageous question of his own.

" 'ave I ev'r told you tha' you smell absolutely delicious?"

 

James knows he's blushing even before he can actually feel his cheeks redden, heat coursing through his veins at the lewd remark. This time, however, he doesn't let his composure crumble, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before replying in an aloof tone while the blade pushes forward till a drop of blood trickles down bronze skin.

 

"The gallows lamented about your absence, Mister Sparrow. Let's not keep them waiting any longer. Shall we?"

 


	4. Of Fears And Unrequited Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four has officially set sail, mis amigos! Smutless and ambiguous though it is, I weaseled in some lovely introspection which by now has become the death of me and the annoyance of you, as well as the names of the King and the Queen mentioned briefly in Chapter Two. I hope I maintain at least half of your interest in my story.
> 
> Enjoy and Feedback!

To say that only a few people stare at them as James pushes the pirate through the streets of Port Royal would be a painful understatement when literally each and every villager stops what they are doing to gawk at the unusual pair. Fortunately, the docks are close and so are the cells, he doesn't have to stand this attention much longer. When they reach their destination, Gillette greets him with all the enthusiasm of a still fairly newly invested Lieutenant before he narrows his eyes at the smug miscreant surrendered to the Commodore's fine sword.

 

"Welcome back, sir!"

 

"Good morning, Gillette. As you can see, I have encountered unexpected inconveniences along the way. Fetch some irons, Mister Sparrow has a far too delayed appointment with the gallows."

 

◇◇◇

 

The gaol is just as cold and filthy as Jack remembers, yet surprisingly empty, its occupants swinging in the noose without a doubt. Perhaps he should feel at least a semblance of fear at the prospect of taking their place, but he doesn't have the slightest tremor for the simple reason that fate has always been by his side, shadowed by the certainty that it won't give up on him now, after all those years of fighting the chains brought by the "higher" class. It is also fate that decided to open his eyes to what he knew he desired, but had no idea it was possible to have or even mutual. There is one problem with this very revelation, though, his senses screamed _mate_ the second James' scent graced his sensory receptors and that in itself truly terrified Jack more than Davy Jones' Locker ever had.

 

Why?

 

Because it felt too pure, too raw, too _real_ for him to comprehend that someone out there was made to complete the missing half of him, because it felt as if they were meant to be from the very first breath they both took, because it felt like the damn touch of destiny Tia Dalma always babbled about. His rut came like a full-on surprise, especially because he seemed to be the only one who picked up on the exquisite fragrance of an Omega in heat and even more because a familiar pair of sea-green emeralds kept flashing before his mind's eye. He should have known something was wrong, but then again he was too focused on jerking himself off in a dark alley to realise that.

 

Then, the need to gather supplies, shillings in particular, led him and his crew of unscrupulous miscreants back to Port Royal, regardless of Mister Gibb's complaints that it was a damn horrible idea. That was the only reason... or so he told himself. In his defence, it wasn't a complete lie, but the real motivation that urged him to return there and not sail somewhere else entirely had been a whisper ringing annoyingly often in his head that his mate was waiting for him on that very special island. Retrospectively, he shouldn't have chosen to step on land alone, admittedly, an even worse idea than the previous one, but he couldn't risk losing the Pearl again. Apart from that, he had also been hoping that the aloof Commodore would turn out to be the one responsible for his rut and, what do you know, it really is him.

 

The pull is strong, so much so that his brain decided to cut off any connection between his brain and rationality, which are indeed present often despite popular belief. quite clear by now that supernatural causes are involved. Pair this with eerie dreams of crawling creatures, yellow eyes glowing in some kind of watery grave and a torch alight in said abysmal place and a relatively sane person would ultimately think that either they have a far too active imagination or dementia is due to settle in sooner than they had expected. He has no qualms with this perfectly normal hypothesis, but after literally striking a deal with Davy Jones, fighting with a bunch of immortal, cursed pirates, becoming one of said pirates and getting out of everything alive, in real flesh and bones, Jack is sure as hell these dreams are meant to show him dangers rapidly coming to knock at their proverbial door.

 

◇◇◇

 

Her lean body sways in tandem with the fluid strokes of her fin, sensual curves undulating in the freezing water of the depths along with long, auburn waves. Keto felt the power surge all the way to the nest, ground rumbling from the intensity of the long-awaited awakening designed solely to bring back memories of ravage and ruin, memories that can become reality if they don't separate the adelfón psyhón soon. Death's scythe shall loom over both of their heads whether Phorkys likes it or not. She knows where her Alpha's affections lingered for the past thirty centuries, she knows he is weak in the face of his forbidden love and she is furious for not once did he forsake the remembrance of the man who never loved him back, not once did he look at her with tenderness and warmth. Yet she still stands by his side, constant, unadulterated, immutable in her stubborn feelings towards the King, capable of anything to keep him away from harm, betrayal, fear, even if it means he'll take her life for going against his innermost will.

 

She sees his sullen form kneeling by the torch and the smile she tries so hard to hold upon her frozen lips falters, overwhelmed by worry, anger and the wish to kill. Nevertheless, the Queen burning in her swims tall and proud towards her husband, creatures of all kinds bowing before her graceful silhouette as she reaches out a hand to touch the King. He flinches and she frowns, but lets her palm linger on his shoulder nonetheless.

 

"H-h-he's... he's... Keto..."

 

Gentle fingers glide across lamellate skin to play with argent strands akin to a mother trying to comfort her frightened, helpless child.

 

"I know, I know, agápi mou..."

 

They stay like this, sharing the same pain, yet mourning different losses while sobs echo in the waters of the dark, sobs they will pretend never existed, ghosts of the past flickering vividly to haunt them forever, restless and unwavering until the end of time.

 

◇◇◇

 

The wave and the martin dance across the sea, trill high up in the sky. Gods smile upon their destined souls, bestowing love upon their chime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts :)))
> 
> Phorkys is the ancient sea-god of the hidden dangers of the deep and his wife is Keto. Their names mean "seal" (phokes in Greek) and "whale" or "sea-monster", respectively.
> 
> Adelfón psyhón = soulmates in Greek
> 
> Agápi mou = my love or darling
> 
> You might also wonder what exactly is a martin. Well, it is a fork-tailed bird that is also called swallow and which I recently noticed is the the actual tattoo on Jack's wrist, instead of a sparrow, weird thing really. I prefered to use the martin alternative because swallow for me is only the verb and nothing else. Also, it sounds a lot better :)))


	5. Realisations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey, guys! I apologise for taking so long to write and post this chapter. I've been writing for other stories too, stories that I have the responsibility to finish at some point and I felt bad I let them just hang there unfinished. So, here it is, the Fifth Chapter of this surprisingly well-received story.
> 
> I hope you like it and, again, sorry for making you wait so long. Hugs!

The sea lulls its waves to shore with love and care, a mother cradling her children to sleep while rays of silver reflect in the lustrous surface akin to fallen stars. It's quiet... so, so quiet as the port slumbers under dark skies, a locked sparrow longing to spread its wings and soar through the twinkling lights. When heavy footsteps bounce off the stony walls of the gaol, Jack is not really surprised to turn around and see one terribly irritated Commodore trying hard, but failing to keep up the facade of a proud strut instead of the evident frustrated stomp he seems to favour at the moment. For a good five minutes, there's only silence, sea-green meeting dark-brown in a silent dare for the pirate to do the mistake of speaking first. Jack can be anything, from a scoundrel to a madman to an extremely talented lover, but he is no fool, he won't give James the opportunity to strangle him. Although he doubts they can be within two feet of each other without their basic instincts interfering.

 

"Why are you here, Sparrow?"

 

Obvious strain laces usually aloof baritone, narrowed eyes trying to burn him alive with their pointed glare. What doesn't go unnoticed either is the light pink dusting pale cheeks as it continues to spread lower and lower down the Briton's neck. He wouldn't be Captain Jack Sparrow if he let the chance to rile James up slip between his fingers so, with a characteristically sly smirk he answers with a slurry question of his own, deliberately emphasising the huskiness in his voice with each step he takes towards the Navy officer.

 

"Can't a pirate visit 'is hearties?"

 

At the last word, his breath wafts over James' flushed skin, aromas of rum, gold and something uniquely Jack tickling sensitive nostrils. Neither backs down, and he is absolutely thrilled to stand so close to the stern man, inhaling his sweet scent without even the slightest intention to conceal the arousal shining in kohl-smudged eyes. Now, so close that their fragrances mingle, the certainty that Commodore Norrington is, in fact, an Omega is as clear as Jack's cunning nature.

 

"Why. Are. You. Here? I won't ask again."

 

Thin fingers grip cold bars as he leans forward in a more or less conscious attempt to intimidate the taller man with the slur of his words.

 

"Will you free me harmless self if I tell ye?"

 

If looks could kill, he would've died a hundred times by now, half of said times just from the piercing glowers of the Englishman.

 

"I'll take that as a no."

 

There's a tense pause in which he ponders if he should tell the whole truth for once or simply omit essential information like he always does. It's fairly unexpected how patient James becomes, seemingly waiting for the pirate to say something he's longing to hear. Eventually, he resolves to reveal the strange experience with his surprise rut.

 

"Well, Jamie, luv, it all started with me an' me precious bottle o' rum. T'was a great night, one week ago, we were enjoyin' each other's company when, out of nowhere, yer damn Omega sniff made me go crazy."

 

Confusion is written all over the Commodore's face then, mouth opening to ask a well anticipated blabber of how if he wasn't even there. Jack beats him to it.

 

"Dunno how, but let me tell ye somethin'." his voice lowers to a barely audible murmur laden with lust "T'was egregious. Me hand on me cock, imaginin' it was you doin' it. Fiddler's Green, I tell ye, 'aven't shot tha' much in a while."

 

If James was blushing before, now it seems like he will spontaneously combust right on the spot, face rapidly changing colour from pink to red to intense scarlet. He might even pass out if he keeps refusing to breathe. Enjoying the Omega's abashed reaction, Jack can't suppress the satisfied chuckle that glides past his lips along with a salacious inquiry he will probably soon regret if the Commodore acts on impulse and finally run him through. He doubts it, but one never knows.

 

"C'mere an' I'll show you how hard ye make me, luv."

 

No one could say that the hand gripping his shirt wasn't to be expected, faces millimetres away while his head would be dangerously close to cracking against the bars if James so decides.

 

"One more word and the noose goes around your neck, pirate."

 

When plump lips meet his own in a heated kiss, all thoughts are erased from James' mind, an involuntary gasp leaving his mouth when a velvety tongue swipes over his lower lip and delves in, mapping each and every corner of his hot, wet cavern. Then, rationality kicks in full-force and he shoves off the infamous knave, taking a few steps back, eyes wide with shock and undefined emotions, hands clenched into fists as he tries to find lucidity again and ignore what had just transpired. Jack, for his part, chooses to stay quiet, cursing himself for letting his desire get the better of him. He is somewhat relieved when the Commodore shoots him an enraged snarl, but doesn't leave and a pensive expression takeing over his chiseled, so unlike Omega features instead. A silent effort to keep their encounter as amiable as they can.

 

Jack watches him pace back and forth, eyes raking over the undoubtedly lean body hidden under that impeccable uniform. Oh, how bad he wants to rip it off and take the man until he's full of Alpha seed, until he begs him to stop with tears welling in green orbs and muscles struggle to keep him upright. He's brought out of his lust-addled musings by a grumbling Commodore who stops his fretful movements to glare at him, frustration coming off in spades.

 

"Why you? Why does it always have to be you?"

 

Typical vexation aside, the question makes little to no sense, considering the bit of information the pirate has just shared. It would add up only if...

 

"You went int' heat too!"

 

A heavy stillness and an obstinate look to the side, laden with conspicuous denial, confirm his realisation. What's left is to convince Jamie that it means something for them, a something that will change everything if they are willing to let it. Seeing that the Commodore has no intention to further elaborate the matter, this duty falls on Jack's shoulders.

 

"Don't you find it weird that it happ'ned at th' same time?"

 

"Same day, not time, Sparrow. Everyone in Port Royal almost found out I am an Omega in the middle of the day."

 

It feels strange to admit this out loud, especially in front of a long-time enemy and, by the looks of it, potential mate. James never dared tp say it, not even when alone, afraid that if he acknowledges the truth, his real nature would bring him misery and humiliation by default. Thus, he absolutely refused to think of himself as anything but a strong, independent Alpha who will join the rank of the Royal British Navy regardless of risks and consequences. Yes, it feels strange, but it also feels liberating and, for that, he is thankful, despite the unnerving look the scoundrel is giving him at the moment.

 

"Wouldn' want that. You're mine, aft all."

 

One would think that a person would be flattered to hear such bold declarations, particularly if said person is an Omega. Not James Norrington, though, no. Instead, his blood boils with fury at being verbally and undeservedly claimed like some kind of property, reaction that ultimately wars with his inherent predisposition to always be submissive in the presence of Alphas. That's how this time deft fingers end up wrapping around the buccaneer's tanned neck, digging into the tender flesh with the purpose to bruise.

 

They don't get too far down the path of violence when a golden glow suddenly lights their opposite wrists.

 

◇◇◇

 

"It is time, vasílissa mou."

 

Grey tail sways with impatience and barely controlled ire as a sneer parts full, rosy lips. Keto had hoped this reunion won't happen so soon, she had hoped that she won't have to break her husband's heart so soon, but she has no choice, Kýma and Helidón must be killed before it's too late.

 

"Summon Skylla, they are bound to sail before long."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess that, after you finish reading, you will manage to put some pieces together.
> 
> Vasílissa mou = Greek for "my queen"
> 
> Kýma = Greek for "wave"
> 
> Helidón = Greek for "martin (swallow)"
> 
> Skylla = Greek for "crab"
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Of Mortal Sons And Divine Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, guys! A word count of 1780 (new record for this fic btw) combined with a little bit of angst, a little bit of suspense AND a far too ancient legend are meant to make this chapter just as interesting as the ones containing smut... I hope :))) I feel that I may have portrayed them a tiny bit OOC, but not too much, human emotions tend to change personalities after all.
> 
> Enjoy and leave me some feedback, people, kudos aren't enough! Kidding, please do leave kudos, but it would be nice if you took the time to comment. Hugs!

It's warm and beautiful, even when they jump apart as if burned, staring at each other with wide eyes before lowering their gazes to their still glowing wrists. There, the gilded pattern of a rope swirls around to the underside of their soft skin where veins interlace to thrum their blood, where now the radiance dims slowly and ink takes its place, two identical tattoos of entwined cords marring their flesh with a symbol neither of them has ever seen before.

 

"I don't s'pose you know wha' this is, aye, luv?"

 

"First, cease your irksome handicap of nicknaming me, you are already testing my patience as it is. Second, no, as a matter of fact I do not know anything about this... whatever this is."

 

"Th'n let me go. I won't run, swear on me Pearl."

 

In hindsight, the pirate lied countless of times, anyone who chooses to believe him is undoubtedly the epitome of imbecility, yet the fact that he actually swore on his ship is a detail most people would consider essential. Unfortunately for James, this element guarantees him that tonight is the night when he will simultaneously reach both the lowest point in his career _and_ the apotheosis of his leniency, all this simply because his traitorous heart seems to be fooled by whatever petty feelings it began to harbour ever since he met Sparrow. Then, the key goes in its destined lock and the click bounces off the stony walls, grate opening with a screech as it scrapes across the floor. Now, face to face with his own personal human-shaped curse, James is afraid... afraid of what he wants, afraid of what would happen if he starts something that he might not finish, he is afraid of them... so he turns away, feet moving on their own accord towards the exit while dark eyes burn into his back. He's running, he knows he is, but there is no other option and he won't throw away his life for this, no matter how much it hurts.

 

"Leave."

 

He's hoping that the tremble in his voice went unnoticed, but the moment a firm hand grabs him by the elbow and spins him around everything stops. For a few seconds it's just the two of them, peering into each other's souls until reality clutches its claws around the Commodore's mind and he yanks his arm out of the gentle grasp. The pain in Jack's irises is almost palpable, but James won't yield so he waits... he waits patiently for the other man to speak, impassive eyes not far from staring into space.

 

"Why? Why are you runnin'? Don't ye think this deserves a chance?"

 

Evident frustration lights the buccaneer's voice, but what takes him by surprise the most is the absence of the usual slur he has grown accustomed to. If he didn't know better, he'd actually think that the infamous bird wants something more than just a tryst. His decision remains unchanged, however, he won't risk years upon years of work and constant hiding because a bizarre connection seems to have formed between them. The harshness in his own tone startles even himself as it rings with finality.

 

"I already let you destroy my life once. I won't let you do it again."

 

This time, when he turns his back to the pirate, there is no hand trying to stop him from leaving. His chest aches, his head feels just like it might explode, his eyes sting from bitter tears he wasn't even aware he wants to let trickle down his cheeks until this very moment. Still, he keeps his spine straight and his chin high up as he leaves Jack standing in the middle of the empty gaol.

 

◇◇◇

 

After that, it didn't take long for Jack to tiptoe his way out and right to Swann Mansion where a disgruntled Elizabeth was already waiting for him by the west wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed while she watches him fall into the bushes like the not always deliberately clumsy pirate he is.

 

" 'ello, Lizzie, long time no see."

 

Luckily, he sees the coming slap seconds before it lands on his cheek so he ducks, a sheepish smile parting his lips.

 

"Now, now, Lizzie, don't be rash."

 

Another attempt at his well-being strikes, this time in the form of a kick he barely dodges.

 

"You utter numskull! Why did you come back? Do you want to die... again!?!?"

 

"Shh, shh, stop yellin' if ye want me t' be safe tha' much."

 

He flinches when she stomps her feet, sensing another attack flying his way, but it never comes. Instead, an unusually calm Elizabeth stares at him with a just as unusual worry. In the silver light of the moon, her pallid skin almost shimmers along with the dark blond locks falling on her shoulder, the satin dressing gown hugging her lean body beautifully. If this happened months ago, before he saved her, before he met James, he would've put his hand on his heart and say she is the most alluring creature he has ever seen. In this moment, however, she pales in comparison to his Jamie. This thought plagued his mind previously to the whole mating mystery as well, even as he told himself what all he wanted was her. Peculiarly enough, his compass had been fooled too, that or maybe the momentary attraction overwhelmed what he truly desired. In that regard, he also has a feeling that the stoic Commodore tried to delude himself too... and failed, despite the strong love he nurtured for the fierce Alpha woman.

 

When she speaks again it's almost meek, but with a threatening edge only Elizabeth can weasel perfectly into her concerned tone.

 

"Jack... You could've died... are you so keen on dying that you decided to seek it out yourself?"

 

In this moment, his reasons become quite undefined. What was he hoping to achieve by coming here? At first, it may have started from necessity, in spite of the fact that there are enough ports in the Caribbean to plunder. Instinct, incipient signs of what might be love and a slight obsession for a certain undercover Omega soon converted themselves into the main motive for his return in Port Royal. Now that it all went downhill more than usual, he's mulling over how much he should regret his resolution and if he should tell Elizabeth or not. Not much thought goes into this dilemma, he will be honest this time around, it is a far too important subject to merely let it slide or omit.

 

"Long tale short, one week 'go I went int' rut out o' now'ere, our favourite Commodore's scent everywhere around 'n tha' simply coincided wit' me need for supplies. Thus, I came 'ere. Funny thin' is, I find out he be actually an Omega 'n then he loots me t' that lovely keep o' yours."

 

"Then how exactly are you here?"

 

"Ah, ah, ah, didn' say I was finished. So he comes for a wee nocturne visit 'n we discover he went int' heat at th' same time as me rut. Thin's happen 'n this appears."

 

At the last phrase, he rolls up his sleeve to reveal the fresh tattoo on his wrist while watching for her baffled reaction before continuing.

 

"Both o' us 'ave it."

 

"And, let me guess, he just let you go?"

 

"Aye, how did you know?"

 

"Because I know James. He's a paragon of prudence and logic and you know it. He won't admit what he wants even though he is aware of it and he won't risk losing the life he has for something he's not sure about or afraid to pursue. Couldn't find it in him to hang you, so he set you free. Huh, an Omega under my nose all this time and I never would've guessed. Although it doesn't surprise me that much either, he seemed rather delicate in his general approach towards me. What does surprise me is that symbol, I've seen it before in some Greek mythology book, but I forgot what it means."

 

"You 'ave  t' get wind o' what it is, these damn thin's glowed."

 

"I will. What are you going to do until then? You can't stay here."

 

"Me Pearl's waitin' for me out there. Whistle when you figure it out 'n I be 'ere in a jiffy."

 

She watches him climb the rampart and disappear into the night once more, a pensive look gracing her dainty features. Somehow, she feels trouble already knocking at their proverbial door.

 

Hours later, when Jack downs a bottle of rum in his cabin, contemplating his peculiar emotions, and James squirms in his bed until he tangles himself completely in the sheets whilst thinking about what could have been, a pair of wide brown eyes stares in awe at barely decipherable scribbles laid out on an old, torn page.

 

**_Centuries ago, when the sun and the moon danced across the sky together, when gods and humans lived in peace as they prospered, two destined souls had found each other. One was cursed to dwell inside a mortal body, kindred to a wave that could not exist without the earth, one was blessed to be born an immortal high on Mount Olympus, a chirping bird born from Owl and Sun, soaring through the clouds. The divine son with golden wings was named Helidón while the kind and gentle mortal took the name of Kýma._ **

 

 **_One day, the martin was flying with the wind, skimming over sparkling waters as he laughed with his father in the sky. But then the crows ascended on his carefree form, they pierced his wings and plucked his feathers with their beaks and talons and he plummeted into the sea._ ** **_A young man saw the alate creature fall whilst he was sailing on the restless waves and jumped into the saline water, grasping at soft plumes to bring this being to the surface. Dark brown stares into sea-green when air and light cascade over them, bronze skin radiating sunshine as wings turn into arms and feathers into hair, mortal alabaster glistening in golden rays. Crows tried to claw at their flesh, to gouge out their eyes, but the barrier around them was strong, unyielding, mighty, bright._ **

 

**_The love that took over their hearts bloomed in an instant, but it was short-lived for there was one who loved the wave as well, the crab. His chelas clenched around them like a cage, intent to kill, for if he couldn't have the mortal boy then no one could. Helidón fought and they broke free, but the King of Depths did not accept defeat, so the son of Helios told his love to sail away as blood stained their wrists in a sealed promise that they will see each other once again._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The legend is a completely made-up one, my imagination went wild I guess :)) So, I've got some explaining to do.
> 
> As most of you already know, Mount Olympus was thought to be the Greek Gods' home (Zeus, Aphrodite, Hera etc etc people like that). Simple. Now, in my legend the Owl is Hekate who was variously associated with crossroads, entrance-ways, light, magic, witchcraft, knowledge of herbs and poisonous plants, ghosts, necromancy, and sorcery. And the Sun is well... the Sun, more exactly Helios who was her consort (this bit is actually from the original story).
> 
> I associated Helidón with a bird because you know, they can fly and so it was easier to imagine a bird soar towards the peak of Mount Olympus and, also, his mother is an owl so do the math, Greek mythology never had much logic anyway. I chose the wave thing for Kýma because water without ground to stand onto is something yet unimaginable and because waves are a result of the earth tectonic plates and things like that, not much of a science person here :))
> 
> I kept it short cause legends usually tend to be that way it you want to keep them simple, especially the ones about love. I think it's obvious who the King of Depths is and why in previous chapters everyone under the sea talked about their doom. I also decided not to reveal what the tattoo is in this chapter, but in a later one, the blood part I like in particular.
> 
> I hope everything's clear and I thank you for finding the time to read my story!


	7. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I delved into a little bit of canon implications here and I obviously altered the timeline,not to mention the angst, oh, the angst. I may have made James a bit too vulnerable? Maybe even OOC? I'm really not sure, but his reaction is to be expected given the years he had to hide the fact that he is an Omega.

The stars begin to fade as light peeks on the blue-grey horizon, dark clouds clustering over the agitated sea in a premonitory veil. Two figures float above the surface, identical russet strands dispersing in tandem with unruly ripples while they watch the Black Pearl from afar.

 

"You summoned me, mitéra?"

 

"Yes, child, the time has come for you to awaken your sisters."

 

"What about Davy Jones? Won't he be yapping about when he finds out we are going to kill the one whom he claims is his to kill?"

 

"He won't care as long as Sparrow pays his debt. Besides, we wouldn't be here in the first place if he did his job properly and killed the little bird when he had the chance. For all his undead glory, we are more powerful than he can ever hope to be, that's why he won't risk losing his immortality before having his revenge, no matter whose hands deliver the fatal blow. Now go, the midget will arrive soon."

 

A nod is all that Skylla gives her mother before diving away into the darkest depths of the Seven Seas to bestir her sisters from their centuries-long slumber. Soon, abnormity replaces beauty, fair skin turning to ashen scales duplicate to the massive hail horns that protrude from her skull like spades whilst emerald orbs become larger and larger by the second until they completely relinquish their colour to an eerie pupilless yellow. Any semblance of humanity vanishes when the corners of her mouth begin to split her face into hideously razor-teethed jaws, nose scrunching up to the point where only nostrils can be seen. The transformation is final the moment her neck sinks into her shoulders till it merges with her now flat chest, delicate arms morphing into clawed chelas as thin crustacean legs emerge from the gradually growing carapace on her back and a squamous tail sprouts out. It's gruesome and vile, this monstrous creature all sailors know and fear, but none of them who saw ever survived to tell about.

 

◇◇◇

 

When the first ray of sunlight graces her weary form and the shadows in her room begin to melt into the walls, Elizabeth finally realises that it's morning. Time flies when you find out all the things she did in the last few hours. It's really astonishing how many people search for a soul mate yet never get to meet them, but these two completely opposite morons were blessed with the chance to find one another after millenia. In retrospect, she probably shouldn't speak like that about the reincarnation of a god and his lover, but bloody hell, no one would have ever guessed they could represent such people... or that soul transmigration actually exists, for that matter.

 

The problem now is who to tell first... Jack who came to her and was peculiarly honest about everything? Or James who will fiercely deny reality for as long as he can until his resolve crumbles and it might be too late? Perhaps it won't ever be too late for them, they're destined to walk by each other's side after all, but, knowing how "well" fate and luck work when it comes to their group, in particular, life is meant to get so damn complicated too fast too soon. In the end, she chooses to go to the man who loved her with all his heart. Unfortunately, it takes another hour to piece together a flawless appearance, maids scurrying around to suffocate her with one despicable corset and simultaneously style her hair in one far too intricate coiffure for her taste.

 

By the time they're done, she's out of breath and on the verge an irate breakdown. She manages to make a run for it, however, the same old book she first read held tightly to her bosom as she stumbles away in her frilly gown.

 

◇◇◇

 

Brown eyes widen from their perched position in the crow's nest. It was the only place where he could find solace, waving Ragetti away from his temporary station. Thank whatever God there is that he decided to come up here or he would've never seen the fleet of five Royal Navy vessels sailing their way towards Port Royal. The problem in itself is not that a group of British ships is approaching, no, the actual problem is that Jack _knows_ all too well who commands said galleons and the arrogant imp is certainly not bringing good news for any of the people on the island.

 

His body moves almost on its own down the mast in rushed motion, a haze of alarm taking over his mind as he meets Mister Gibb's worried gaze. He thinks a vague explanation glides past his lips before he's in a boat rowing madly to reach land ahead of the East India Trading Company scourge. A feeling in his gut is telling him their previous adventures got both Elizabeth and James in trouble, maybe even Will, such law violations definitely didn't go unnoticed.

 

◇◇◇

 

"James! James! Open the bloody door, I know you're in there!"

 

It takes two more minutes of insistent knocking and acquiescently disapproving stares from the servants before a quite disheveled, quite insomniac Commodore opens the door to his quarters still clad in his nightshirt, narrowed eyes simmering with annoyance and chagrin while the tone of his voice projects a strangely calm demeanor.

 

"May I help you, Elizabeth?"

 

"Don't you 'may I help you' me. Let me in before I lose my patience."

 

She doesn't wait for his permission to enter, of course, she doesn't, it is her after all. A muffled protest from one of the maids can be heard behind her, but it dies down when James raises his hand.

 

"It is fine, Olivia, you may go."

 

With a slight bow, the creole woman hurries away in a blur of ruffled skirts and incoherent mumbles Elizabeth can only assume are directed at her. The door closes behind her with a loud click, the following silence hanging heavy in the air between them while he turns around to face her. In the morning light, his face looks almost gaunt, paler than usual, dark circles darkening the soft skin under dull eyes. He's a mess, both physically and emotionally, that much is clear, but things will change once she tells him what or rather who he is. Whether they will take a turn for the worse or the other way around is debatable.

 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit so early in the morning?"

 

It is more than evident that the question is meant to give off hostility, but the utterly defeated expression cast over James' features alters it to a frail inquiry.

 

"I know what happened and, before you deny it, Jack came to me last night."

 

The reaction is instant, eyes widening, mouth falling slightly agape whilst he forgets to breathe "That..." fucking failure of a pirate told her! It makes his blood boil with rage. What right does he have to babble about things that only half concern him?

 

"Why did you run? No, screw that. Why do you think that _this_ isn't worth risking what you have?"

 

Something snaps then.

 

"Why, why, why! You think it's easy!?!? To be born an Omega in a family that would rather see you dead? To lie every bloody day about who you are... about what you are so that _they_ won't try to breed you or look at you with pity, hate, revulsion? Tell me, Elizabeth, do you know what that is like? Do you know how many hours upon hours I spent to grow out of the body of a weak brood mare? Do you know how it feels to have the constant fear of someone finding out you are nothing but a pathetic creature yearning to belong?"

 

Silence... dead silence follows his outburst and guilt clenches in her gut... Strong... James has always been strong, unmoving, fierce, ever since she met him an eternity ago, the perfect Alpha specimen people of all natures swoon around. So much hidden pain laid dormant underneath that mask and it hurts... it hurts to feel like she never really knew who he _is_. The man barely standing in front of her is but a shell of what she thought him to be, the man crying in front of her is a broken human who never felt like he belonged, permanently searching for something his soul desperately yearned for, but never got the chance to find.

 

By the time she puts the almost forgotten book on the desk and her arms wrap around his hunched form, they are both weeping. He makes no move to push her away, simply burying his face into the junction of her shoulder as dark blond locks tickle his nose. They stay like this for a while, wallowing in regret and helplessness until she gently pulls back an inch to look into his eyes, foreheads pressed against each other whilst her voice lowers to a whisper reserved for frightened children.

 

"It might be hard now, but, please, listen to me. It's worth it. _You_ are worth it. Don't throw away the chance to finally be happy. T-"

 

The door bursts open and they jump apart, James shielding her as in comes a group of redcoats, bayonets pointing at them in all their sharply dangerous glory. Mocking words soon shadow the two officers, a voice far too familiar for the Englishman's liking echoing chuckles around the room.

 

"Well, well, it seems I get to kill two birds with one stone. How convenient, wouldn't you say so, Commodore Norrington?"

 

James' voice is grim when he speaks, dread, disdain and apprehension raking his senses with each passing moment while Elizabeth clutches his shirt with trepidation, quietly waiting fo the right time to make an escape. In vain, it isn't possible and all of them know it.

 

"Cutler Beckett."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, the squid and the midget are bound to return guys! Are you glad? 
> 
> Vote now, only on AO3:
> 
> ｡ ◕‿◕｡ yes 
> 
> ☹ no 
> 
> ◕‿-｡ maybe 
> 
> (◕^^◕) not sure
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Chains And Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short, I painfully lack inspiration right now. Hopefully, it will grace me with its presence again in the next chapter.

When distant dots of red turn out to be redcoats with glistening bayonets at their side, Jack knows it's too late. The only way to get closer is to jump into the bushes nearby, so he does just that, rustling through leaves and grass towards the mansion. Soon, a small figure with a tricorne far too big for his head steps out, followed by a manacled James. What he doesn't expect though, is to see not only the Commodore being dragged out, but Elizabeth as well, furious and outraged by the soldiers holding them captive for no apparent reason. Well, the last part is not strictly true and all three of them are certainly aware of that. The obvious reason for the little devil's visit is the compassion they have shown Jack by letting him go... not to mention Will's very real, very unlawful alliance with the pirate. Contrary to popular belief, Jack is an intelligent human being, he had been conscious of the trouble his escape might stir from the moment he left, but he brushed the unwanted worry aside and sailed away. It didn't matter that much then, the strings of his emotions hadn't been tied tightly enough for him to care about his former companions, but it sure as hell matters now. Irony and hypocrisy are clear as day, but people can change without being judged, damn it, why can't he?

 

He starts backing away before they even begin to head in his direction, a silent promise to free them etching itself in his heart as he sprints away to the only person that can possibly help him in this dreadful predicament he finds himself in. He can only hope that he'll get to him in time...

 

◇◇◇

 

"Let go of me, you brutes! You have no reason or authority to arrest us!"

 

James suppresses and involuntary wince at the evident lie in her words. The Beta has all the reasons he needs to hang them and she knows it just as well as he does. Playing dumb won't solve a thing. Elizabeth has not been put in irons yet, but the risk to soon be restrained is undoubtedly there and they can't lose that relative freedom she still has over something as witless as her fickle temper.

 

"Elizabeth."

 

It's all it takes for her to cease her struggling. The loathsome smug on Beckett's face makes their defeat even more prominent and he hates himself for giving him the pleasure of being right, but he did what had to be done.

 

"Oh, in fact I _do_ , Miss Swann. Our dear former Commodore has been kind enough to admit it just now."

 

The Omega can feel her scorching gaze on the back of his neck. He wants to curse the so-called Lord, he wants to tell her that he hasn't given up, but he decides against it. Now is not the time. Anything they say can be used against them, so it's better to remain silent.

 

One horrendously disgraceful walk later, they reach Fort Charles and, as if the curious stares of the villagers weren't enough, now, the blatantly judgemental glances from some of the men he comman- used to command make the silent fury inside him burn brighter. How dare they look at him like! After all he's done for them and their country... He cannot imagine what it would be like if they find out he is not truly an Alpha...

 

Lost in thought, he doesn't realise they're already down into the gaol until he's shoved past the bars of his newly appointed cell. He stumbles, but he doesn't fall, only closes his eyes as he faces the  wall, Elizabeth's sneers and struggles echoing in his ears.

 

Then, everything's silent except for the heavy steps of the departing soldiers.

 

It doesn't last.

 

"How the mighty have fallen."

 

The flippant tone lacing Beckett's accented voice makes his blood boil with anger, but he doesn't turn around to face the haughty bastard, he won't give him the privilege of his consideration. This, however, doesn't deter the Lord from degrading James further.

 

"Quiet, are we now. Well, after freeing a pirate convicted of heinous crimes, I suppose silence is to be expected. Criminals can only loiter with criminals."

 

Heaving out a sigh, he's still refusing to react to Beckett's words. He refuses to humiliate himself more than his deeds already have.

 

"You have no right to speak to him that way! You're not better than anyone!"

 

"And you are? What, precisely, makes you think that, Miss Swann? Perhaps the fact that you have vouched for Sparrow's freedom, just like James here did? No? Then maybe your pitiful dalliance with a man accused of being in cahoots with the pirate? Wrong again? I must be getting rusty."

 

Guilt, utter guilt is well alight in her eyes along with silent ire. The truth resounding in his words cannot be denied, they are indeed at fault, yet... yet neither of them regrets helping Jack. It was the right thing to do and no one can say otherwise. She hates herself for falling silent instantly, for it means that she admits to their illicit actions and that only fuels the dwarf's self-satisfaction even further judging by the shit-eating grin on his face.

 

"You understand my point now, Miss Swann? I advise you to hold your tongue in the future. Tsk, tsk and here I was thinking about giving you a chance to live."

 

This time, James does turn around to glare down at the man with the last bit of dignity he has. Both Britishers know that out of the two of them, the demoted Commodore is, in truth, the better man, but the facade is clear and easily projects a noble distortion of the inherently vile Lord.

 

"I finally have your attention, I see. The question is, will you be able to do what I ask?"

 

James' glare morphs into a frown.

 

"Bring me Sparrow's compass..."

 

He smiles cruelly.

 

"Along with his head."

 

The sound of his shoes clicking against the stony floor rings hollowly in James' ears as it gradually fades away, the Lord's haunting words blending into a nightmare that, not long ago, had been his ultimate mission. To rid the world of Jack Sparrow.

 

"You have until sunset to decide."

 

◇◇◇

 

Enraged shouts and pained groans attract the unwanted attention of the villagers while Jack approaches the smithy, careful to remain unnoticed. Apparently, he's late again. Late, yes, but mayhap not _too_ late. He bustles in to find Will cornered by the anvil, six redcoats pointing their immaculate weapons at the lad, sharp swords and loaded guns prepared to kill if necessary. Defeat would have been imminent if Jack wouldn't have arrived. Fortunately, he's there and hasn't been spotted yet, so the advantage of surprise is still on his side as he tiptoes behind two of the soldiers, an empty bottle he found on the floor in one hand and the barrel of his pistol in the other. When glass and metal make contact with their heads, they fall over in a heartbeat, multiple pairs of eyes widening in surprise while they snap towards him.

 

"Jack!"

 

"Ahoy, lad. Long time no see."

 


	9. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Will meet a potential ally. Will is confused and curious. Elizabeth is angry. And James...well James just feels lost and defeated and ends up making a choice that he regrets, a predicament he might or might not manage to get out of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I'm so, so sorry for making you wait so long, guys! Tests and projects have started here in full-force, the life of an Erasmus students is a constant adventure... back home I still would've been chill right now, but nooo, I wanted to leave with a scholarship. Well... at least it's useful.
> 
> So, here is Chapter 9. I surprised myself with how long it turned out to be. Unfortunately, I haven't incorporated hot stuff yet, but I'm planning on doing that in the next chapter. It won't be smut, per se, but it will be steamy.
> 
> Thank you for reading my story, I hope this chapter won't feel like a pointless filler! Hugs!

"Shouldn't you..."

 

Dodge.

 

"Be somewhere far away..."

 

Punch.

 

"By now?"

 

Kick.

 

"Aye.

 

Parry.

 

"But I couldn' leave wit'out vistin' me favo'rite blacksmit'..."

 

Charge.

 

"Now could I?"

 

How one can have a conversation during situations of extreme peril is a concept only the two of them along with a few select people can achieve. How they come out of them unscathed is yet another good question that will forever remain unanswered. Through all, what shines out the most is the mutual understanding and cooperation that soon shows when two opponents launch an attack at the same time. Glancing at each other, wide smug grins on their faces, the two cornered allies duck and roll to opposite sides, blades swishing right over their heads as they jump back to their feet behind the soldiers only to send them flying face-first into the wooden door.

 

They eventually manage to knock out all of them, running off with lightning speed the second the last red coat honoured his rendezvous with the floor. Unfortunately, not even two houses away from the smithy, their cursed luck decides to make itself known and, therefore, they soon bump straight into a group of nothing more, nothing less than twelve guards who now are no longer patrolling the streets. Needless to say, all hell breaks loose once again, people scattering in all directions, women screaming, children crying while swords clash against cutlasses and their chances to flee to safety diminish with each passing moment.

 

The perfect tandem fighting they've developed ever since they met is still working though, back to back they keep each other from being cut to pieces as they parry until an opening presents itself and they make a dash for it without really having a hiding destination in mind.

 

At long last, they reach the village's square, out of breath and with the soldiers still hot on their trail, but at a far enough distance for them to be able to scan the area for an escape route. Shouts and tromping feet resound in their ears, getting closer and closer and hindering any way of making it out of there in time. Fortunately, they spot a hay cart waiting for them beside a vegetable stand and, in less than five seconds they very artistically fly into the pile of straws, landing in a heap of limbs more or less tangled.

 

"Ow, stop moving, your foot is in my face!"

 

"Can't help it, mate, yer knee's crushin' me bollocks..."

 

That being said, through gritted teeth, they continue to twist and grunt and end up in awkward positions until they instantly still when they hear the red coats tramp around the square's market asking villagers if they have seen a pirate and a blacksmith passing by. Luckily for them, the old woman who saw their "graceful" leap into the hay cart next to her stand said nothing. Before long, the guards leave to search for them in other parts of Port Royal and the commotion dies down quite quickly after that. They do not move a muscle however, cautious in case not all of them departed.

 

"It's all right, they're gone, you two can come out of there."

 

At the sound of her voice, they both flinch instinctively, but finally detangle themselves so that their heads can pop out of the forage to stare at her in confusion. Long hoar waves flow smoothly down the sides of a heart-shaped face, bright cobalt irises contrasting with the snowy locks in a perfect image of pure beauty, despite the wrinkles on her almost translucent skin and the ragged beige linen she's wearing.

 

It is Jack who speaks first.

 

"Why'd you cover fer us?"

 

Her laugh is light and amused as she looks at the pirate with a strangely fond glimmer in her eyes.

 

"Ah, you may not remember him, but you saved my son many, many years ago when that spawn of Satan enslaved him."

 

Dark brown orbs widen in a mix of shock and dread, the deepest corners of his psyche already projecting to the surface of his mind the sole memories he swore to seal forever. At his side, Will ganders at him with veiled worry, curiosity evident as well in his expression.

 

"Don't just stand there. Put these over your head and come with me."

 

Snapped out of their respective musings by the undoubtedly Alpha tone in her request, the two men jump out of the cart to grab the offered shawls before hooding their faces with them and hurrying after the surprisingly agile old lady who's already on the move. If Jack wasn't of mischievously calm demeanor by nature and if the situation wasn't so dire, he probably would've bared his teeth in challenge, but he is indeed a covert pacifist so he doesn't and they jog after her.

 

"What was that about?"

 

It's clear what the question is referring to and the answer is immediate, curt, perhaps too harsh, but the lad will not find out about **_that_** story yet, not now, not until Jack deems it necessary. He wishes that moment will never come.

 

"Nothin'."

 

It rings with finality.

 

Obviously put off by the uncharacteristically hostile reply, Will resolves to let the matter slide for now, focusing instead on the woman ahead of them. Suspicion comes naturally, so his reluctance to trust her is to be expected. However, he does trust Jack and his judgement more than he's willing to admit, despite the buccaneer's mostly dishonest persona.

 

Clouds begin to cluster over the azure sky as they blend in with the crowds, trying to keep up with her without drawing too much attention or getting detected by the occasional pairs of British minions stationed on the streets. Jack stumbled out of the mass of people at some point, alerting the guards near them, but Will managed to yank him back just in time, dragging him into another throng, farther away from the teeming red coats.

 

Panic settles in slightly when they notice there is no sight of their octogenarian saviour, heads frantically shifting from left to right in an attempt to find her. All fretfulness dies down as soon as they spot her waiting for them up ahead, in front of an open door leading inside a fairly dilapidated house. Seizing the opportune moment to separate from the group, they bolt right past her and into the house, door slamming shut after she enters.

 

"Now tha'... w's close."

 

"You'll have to stay here until midnight if you want to escape alive, guards are going to especially persistent in their patrol now that you two are on the run."

 

Jack opens his mouth to reply, but Will beats him to it, furious and confident.

 

"We're not going to run."

 

One eyebrow arched, the woman gives them a curious look "Oh, and what do you intend to do then?" There's a short pause before realisation dawns on her and she smiles "Ah, you are going to save the Omega and the girl, aren't you?"

 

Another bout of silence passes whilst the blacksmith looks from her gentle expression to Jack's passive-aggressive facade then back to her, perplexed by this new piece of information that the pirate seems to already be aware of. He has an idea about whom she might be alluding to, but it's quite an impossible thought, the Commodore has always painted the perfect image of a powerful, respected Alpha.

 

"Umm, Omega? W-"

 

"Will."

 

_That_ tone again, more than simply authoritative, yet less than full-on Alpha. He hates that it's the second time Jack uses it on him and that it works. It shouldn't have that much of an impact on a Beta such as himself, but it does and the fact that it's not Elizabeth who has this effect on him is not received that well by his inner Omega core. Containing his curiosity after being so "kindly" asked, he drops the subject, the confirmation is clear enough anyway. What he doesn't understand though is Jack's urgency to leave the matter unspoken.

 

As if reading his mind, the woman gives him a knowing smile.

 

"All in due time, my boy, the martin is lost sailing in its own storm now."

 

From the corner of his eye, Will can see Jack's brows furrow, a mix of distrust and bewilderment. Regardless, the pirate keeps his unnerving silence for a while longer whilst the three of them awkwardly just stare at each other.

 

For his part, Jack has been feeling uneasy from the moment they met her, but between the only two choices they had it was evident they'd choose the one where their bodies won't be hanging from the noose. What's more, the woman seems to know far too much about his past as well as his current predicament with Jamie. A simple coincidence is too far-fetched, so mayhap something supernatural is involved. Good or bad, it remains to be seen.

 

"You are wary I gather. I completely understand, but I assure you, my intentions are strictly benevolent, you saved my son after all."

 

There's another pause as she starts shuffling around until she finds the grey apron she's been searching for, wrapping it around her surprisingly lean waist. Heading for the door, she stops inches away, turning her head to look at them with reassuring eyes.

 

"My son will be back after sunset, he will help you with your plans."

 

And so, they are left alone in semi-obscure room with no windows, a bed somewhere forgotten in a corner, a table, two chairs and a flickering candle.

 

Neither of them notices the bright light coming from under the door or the shadow that changes its form.

 

◇◇◇

 

Meanwhile, James and Elizabeth pace back and forth in their cells, scouring their minds for any possibility of escape before the sea drown the sun. The disheartening part? They've been doing this for the past two hours or so and nothing came up. The even more disquieting part is that Beckett's ultimatum seems to be approaching faster and faster with each passing second.

 

"What do we do James... dusk is in three hours, we can't just stay here doing nothing..."

 

"And what do you propose we do in broad daylight?"

 

Just like that, they go back to their previous silent pondering until they resign themselves and he plops down on the hard floor, back against the stony wall, waiting for the midget Lord to return. Cold seeps through his night-shirt as he lays there in dirt and pessimism, his bones hurt, his body is numb, his mind even more so. He can feel chestnut orbs glancing at him with worry from time to time, still standing on her feet as stubborn as ever to lower herself to the likes of common prisoners. Huh... guess he gave up pretty quickly... he really hadn't realised how tired he was of all this pretending to be strong...

 

Sooner than expected, gold and crimson paint the skies, birds chirping their evening lullabies in perfect harmony with the waves spuming in the distance. The atmosphere is bleak, the tension growing by the second as they wait.

 

"What are you going to do?

 

"I'll accept."

 

"You can't do that!"

 

"He'll kill you if I don't..."

 

Perhaps to an outsider the conversation sounds a bit strange. Why the fuss, when he could simply lie? Well, things get far more complicated than that when someone like James and his strong sense of honour are involved. If he gives his word, he won't be able to break it, like his brain has been programmed to never trample on his promises. Besides... Beckett will not let Elizabeth go and her father's safety is also in the equation, even if James swears to kill Jack, they are the mongrel's leverage, his only assurance that James will accomplish his mission.

 

"You won't be able to kill him even if you tried."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because he is you soul mate, James, killing him would mean killing yourself."

 

Wide eyes stare at her in disbelief.

 

"Yes, you heard me right. That tattoo on your wrist is the knot of Hercules, it's a tattoo that binds you two together for eternity, just like it did your divine ancestors before you."

 

Lost in their intense exchange of words, neither hears the heavy footsteps entering the gaol until the snobbish voice they're beginning to hate more and more interrupts them.

 

"My, my, a few hours in a cell can truly change a man."

 

The glares he receives in response do not affect him at all and James still has to make a move to detach himself from his position on the floor, mind reeling with the newly bestowed knowledge it has just been overwhelmed with. However, the short man has no intention of letting him contemplate what could Elizabeth have possibly meant.

 

"Tell me, _Commodore_ , what choice have you made? Do I need to order my men to prepare the gallows for your friend here?"

 

Two equally confused pairs of eyes lock onto each other.

 

"What? You didn't assume I was going to kill you, did you,  James? An Omega such as yourself is hard to come by, I wouldn't waste the opportunity to keep you as my pet, maybe even produce a few offsprings too."

 

The Omega jumps to his feet instantly. In a flash, he is inches away from the Englishman, gripping the bars tightly as defiance and hatred burns in his gaze.

 

"You bloody bastard!"

 

"Did you really think I didn't know? You should've remembered I have my ways by now."

 

There is a long, painful pause, James sneering at the unphazed man in front of him before a veil of defeat cascades over him and he lets go of the bars. His eyes never leave Beckett's as his next words seem to echoe everywhere around the island.

 

"I accept."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might play Assassin's Creed, I hope the little references about the hay cart as a hiding spot, blending and hooding are clear :))
> 
> On another note, this is how their tattoos are supposed to look like, imagine them golden and glowing how they were in the beginning, I think they would look awesome. It is called Hercules' Knot and it has many meanings, it can be a nautical knot, it can be used in medicine, but it is also a symbol of love and marriage.
> 
> "The marriage-knot or knot of Hercules, a strong knot created by two intertwined ropes, originated as a healing charm in ancient Egypt, but is best known for it’s use in ancient Greece and Rome as a protective amulet, most notably as a wedding symbol, incorporated into the protective girdles worn by brides, which were ceremonially untied by the new groom. This custom is the likely origin of the phrase “tying the knot.”
> 
> According to Roman lore, the knot symbolized the legendary fertility of the God Hercules; it probably relates to the legendary Girdle of Diana captured from the Amazon Queen Hippolyta. In this, the marriage-knot was probably a representation of the virginity of the bride.
> 
> The symbolism of the knot survived well beyond its religious use, and was a very common symbol in medieval and Renaissance love tokens."


	10. Serendipity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue mission gone partially right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It's been far too long, I know, but my survival instinct are working well so I manage to slip some writing between my exams. I hope the chapter won't be disappointing, because, as you can see, I tend to avoid fighting scenes. I just think I'm not good at writing them properly no matter how hard I try. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sunset comes painfully slow as they spend the rest of the day between the four walls of the dark house, both lost in their own thoughts, the pirate staring blankly at the candle while the blacksmith seems to have a quiet fascination with the ceiling. From his spot on the chair, Jack glances at the lad's form sprawled on the small bed. He is glad Will didn't give in to his curiosity, else things would have most likely ended in a heated argument. The time will come when that part of his past will be revealed, but now it is definitely not that time. All he can think about is saving James. Ever since they saw each other not too long ago, the pull towards the Omega grew stronger and stronger, up to the point that it became unbearable, a sharp ache making his heart throb with a kind of hurt he never felt before. And, if this isn't enough, the tattoo on his wrist itches, sometimes even burns, dull flares marring bronze skin with their glow. He's wondering if James is experiencing the same pain... he wants him to and he probably is a bit evil for wanting that, but the man turned Jack away and ran without looking back. In hindsight, the pirate realises that, from the very first moment when he was overwhelmed with unfamiliar rush that fateful night, he lost his freedom. Being apart from the Commodore is no longer a well-established goal, no, it is something inconceivable, something that, if destroyed, will ultimately kill them.

 

A loud screech interrupts his chaotic musings, the rugged door sliding open to reveal a dark-skinned man, about Will's age, who looks nothing like his so-called mother and whose eyes soon widen at the sight of them, cautious and poised in their fighting stances. Surprisingly, a bright smile graces his young features when the revelation of who is standing in his house hits him and he crosses the room in three large strides to stand in front of his confused guests, the power of an Alpha rolling off of him in waves.

 

"Captain Sparrow!"

 

The intensity of his enthusiasm is almost shocking. As is the sudden hug Jack is being pulled into without his express approval. When he finally manages to squirm out of the tight hold, he allows himself to scrutinise the other's features.

 

"Do I know ye?"

 

Teal eyes stare back at him, lively and honest and far too familiar. Then, it clicks.

 

"Adéwalé?"

 

If the youth's toothy grin had been impossibly wide before, now it looks like it will almost split his face in half. Seeing it gives Jack a sense of nostalgia and contentment. It seems that the scrawny boy he found many, many years ago, mercilessly beaten and exploited on Beckett's galleon, managed to move on and grow into a fine man, all thanks to one good deed that earned Jack a delayed, supernatural death sentence. Despite that, the buccaneer regrets nothing, he would sacrifice his soul again if given the chance simply because no human being deserves to be treated like a sack of flesh and bones without the right to feel or need, and then be thrown away when their term of utility expires.

 

"How did you get here?"

 

Too perplexed by the entire situation, it takes him a tad too long to register the question so Will, who has been watching the whole interaction with significant interest, steps in to answer.

 

"Your mother brought us here."

 

"My m- ? I don't have a mother. I've been alone ever since I can remember."

 

This information doesn't really stun either of the two fugitives. In fact, it only serves to strengthen their previous suspicion regarding the woman who saved them and her motives for doing so. Exchanging knowing glances, they turn once more to the man whose home they invaded, questioning eyes literally demanding an explanation.

 

Half an hour later, Adéwalé is in on the majorly shortened story of how Jack and Will met, as well as why and how they ended up in his house. The trio ultimately agreed that the true identity of the old woman is of little importance at the moment and, therefore, decided to focus on the rescue mission Adéwalé didn't hesitate for a second to join.

 

"I know this tunnel that goes under the village and right to the fort."

 

"An' w'ere exactly does it lead? If it's in th' middle o' th' yard then might as well use th' front door."

 

"Do not worry, there is a hatch in the floor of the gaol. It hasn't been used in a while, but it's our only chance to get in."

 

Jack's mind is already made, but he asks for Will's opinion nonetheless. After what they've been through he owes him at least that much consideration.

 

"Wha' say you, dear William?"

 

"I say aye, let's give it a shot. What could go wrong?"

 

This statement earns him in return two sarcastic looks, but he waves them off with a confident smile he has learned to master over the miserable years of his low standard life as a drunk blacksmith's apprentice.

 

Soon and with brief preparations, the plan is set into motion and they quietly exit the house to stealthily peruse the dark streets, Adéwalé at the helm of their possibly suicidal operation. It doesn't take long for them to reach a fairly secluded area on the outskirts of the village, where a half crumbled edifice stands hidden behind thick vegetation, its grille hanging from one rusted, but still intact hinge. Jack doesn't realise he's staring until the he feels a hand rest on his shoulder and a thick Jamaican accent draws his attention.

 

"Having second thoughts, my friend?"

 

In truth, he really doesn't. What really makes him uneasy is the uncertain outcome of this lunacy. Sure, he has always managed to swivel his way out of many potentially fatal circumstances, from grievous battles against Blackbeard to exhausting chases conducted by the Navy across the Seven Seas to literally hanging from the noose, black spots darkening his vision. But... for the second time in his life, it's not about himself, it's about so much more and he can't turn his back on James, even if the Omega already did that.

 

Gold glints in the moonlight peeking through the green canopy of trees and shrubbery, his smile a ghost compared to what it used to be merely days ago.

 

"When hav' I ever?"

 

And so, they descend into the narrow and obscure passage, one torch guiding their path towards the ones they love.

 

Impressively enough, the trio arrives at their destination in less than twenty minutes, in spite of the constant stumbles and toe-bumping incidents they've had along the way. Raising a finger to his lips, Adéwalé signals them to keep quiet as he presses his ear to what looks like a wooden hatch, the sound of footsteps permeating through the planks. When he seems to be sure of the safety on the other side, he reaches up to slide the latch, faint light shrinking their pupils for a short while before they climb out.

 

Like a wave pulling him under its current, the unique scent that is his Jamie fills Jack's nostrils, a sense of comfort washing over him as he rises to his feet, coming straightaway face to face with none other than Elizabeth, who is gripping the bars of her cell so hard her palms might actually be glued to them.

 

"Will!"

 

The lad is in front of her in a flash, warm hands wrapping around her cold ones on the metal whilst they share a chaste kiss.

 

"It's okay, we'll get you out."

 

"Shh! Shh! You wan' us t' get caught?"

 

Both lovers quiet down instantly, the Beta grabbing one of the benches nearby to use as leverage to pull the grillage out of its hinges. The two embrace urgently until a voice they never knew could be so cold interrupts their show of affection.

 

"Where is he?"

 

What makes her flinch is not the question itself, but the simmering anger lacing it. From the corner of her eye, she sees the tall, muscular man staring at them with curiosity before murmurimg a curt "I'll keep watch" and striding away to stand by the gaol's cracked door.

 

"Beckett took him."

 

Retrospectively, she should have lied, given the fact pure determination and impulsiveness overpower the pirate's common sense as soon as the words leave her mouth. Blood boiling under tanned skin, the Alpha's feet start moving on their own accord, already carrying him towards the main exit of the gaol, Adéwalé prepared to stop him from leaving even if knocking him out is what it takes. The Jamaican doesn't get the chance to do so however, a delicate, but a strong hand grabbing Jack's bicep.

 

"Jack, stop! You don't even know if he's here!"

 

"He is, Lizzie. I can feel 'im."

 

"There's no time for that! You won't be able to save him if you do this alone. Damn it, we won't be either if they catch us, don't you see?"

 

He knows, they all know, but he refuses to leave without seeing his Jamie. Yanking his arm out of her grip, he continues to walk away, only stopping to whisper a plea to the man he once saved, a plea to let him go that shines bright in dark-brown eyes.

 

"Me lad, I hav' t' do this. I hav' to see me mate."

 

Seconds tick by along with his hesitation, eyes looking back and forth between his saviour's beseeching face to the woman's equally pleading one. At last, he steps to the side.

 

"Come back in one piece, Captain."

 

Sparing one last look at the two young lovers who gave up on trying to stop him, Jack's lips tilt into a fond smile.

 

"Aye, aye. An' ye, take care o' th'm for me, all rig't?"

 

Then, he's gone.

 

◇◇◇

 

Three close calls and one unconscious, stripped down guard later, Jack finds himself perusing the corridors of the fort clad in the red uniform he has always dreaded, tangled hair stuffed under a white itchy wig while he nods to his 'fellow' soldiers as he passes by. The burning sensation on his wrist continues to intensify, his tattoo undoubtedly shining brighter and brighter under fine clothes with every pull towards his mate that guides him through the surprisingly labyrinthine fortress. It's hot and powerful and simply overwhelming, like a magnet trying to become one with its counterpart. It unfortunately leads him to an area teeming with red coats he barely manages to walk by without being recognised. Standing royally straight and trying to keep most of his face concealed under the annoying tricorne is an incredibly difficult task when one wants to remain incognito. He can tell the guards are becoming suspicious, but if he starts running then that's it for him, so he continues to stroll leisurely without really seeing where he's going anymore.

 

That's how they find each other apparently. Neither realises it at first, Jack's vision obscured by the hat along with his face, even after bumping into someone. But then his senses go haywire and he  _knows_. When he looks up, he's drowning once again into that enchanting sea of green that are James' irises, wide eyes staring down at him in disbelief. It's funny how the height difference actually makes him feel so small, but his Alpha half doesn't seem to mind, purring instead at finally being able to see his mate. He doesn't comprehend how lost he is until an order is shouted at him.

 

"Stand, ho, soldier!"

 

Despite the contradiction between their natures, it's bewildering how instinctively fast Jack assumes the saluting pose of a British subordinate in front of an Omega. He's fortunate to have witnessed this kind of interaction so many times, makes it easier to be mimicked.

 

"Follow me."

 

He tails the Commodore silently to a storage room down the hall and away from prying eyes. Next thing he knows, strong hand grab him by the collar, shaking him slightly in repressed anger.

 

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Sparrow?"

 

The broiling pattern on his wrist redoubles.

 

"Jamie, luv, I came 'ere jus' t' see you an' this is how ye greet me?"

 

For a few moments the struggle to refrain from punching the pirate is more than visible on the Omega's face, but that would certainly cause a commotion. They stay like this, a hairs breadth away for a little while longer before James releases his grip on the fabric and takes a step back, a defeated expression marring his features.

 

"Leave."

 

Silence weighs them down as soon as the word echoes in the room. This time Jack's reaction is instant. But, what he thought was fury at being driven away again turns out to be something else entirely as he closes the distance between them in the blink of an eye. The kiss is chaste and warm in the beginning, a gentle press of moist lips against chapped ones, Jack cupping the stunned Omega's face into his hands.

 

It takes James a while to snap out of his stupor, but, when he does, he kisses back with fervor and desperation, a whimper escaping his lungs at the feel of a velvety tongue swiping over his bottom lip, asking for entrance. He grants it in a heartbeat, his own eager appendage seeking out to map the Alpha's wet cavern in a battle of hot strokes and swirls of saliva while their hands roam over each other's heated bodies.  Unfortunately, there is an end for everything and, just as quickly as they collided, they part, leaning their foreheads against one another whilst their eyes slowly open. So many emotions shine in them as they bare their souls, both feeling their tattoos pulsing in a comforting manner, as if happy they are finally together.

 

When he speaks, James' voice is but a whisper.

 

"You have to leave. Please."

 

There's a tense pause before Jack replies, his response not exactly the one James expected.

 

"I know."

 

Despite their words, they do not part. They continue to bask in the solace of their embrace for what seems like an eternity until James conjures up the courage to let go and put up an emotionless mask.

 

"This part of the fort is by the sea. Down the corridor, there's a study room with a large window. You should be able to jump from there, it's the only way out."

 

"Aye..."

 

Just the thought of being separated again is beyond painful, their tattoos already throbbing on their skin. Still... they both refrain from saying anything more, else they'll break. There is no other choice, but to say farewell for now. Stepping close once more, Jack gives his mate one last lingering kiss before picking his hat up from the floor and smoothing down his uniform.

 

He leaves with a weak smile and a promise to do everything in his power to be with his mate again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little GIF of a very well known scene to fuel your imagination. Next chapter will focus mostly on James and what went down between him and Beckett behind closed doors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Disgrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of abuse not even I expected myself to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud of myself for managing to write this chapter so fast, shorter, but violently steamier. It only took 6 days, as opposed to my previous update which I won't even mention how long it took to make.
> 
> Thank you for being so invested in my story and for bearing with my terrible updating! I never thought this will grow so much and I still have my writer insecurity, but it helps me a lot to see your kind comments.
> 
> Enjoy!

The heavy oak door closes with a reverberating rumble and, along with it, so does half of James' heart. Watching the pirate he thought he hated leave without knowing if they'll ever see each other again is far more painful than any wound. It doesn't help that the tattoo started to burn the moment Jack left, sensing his mate's departure. A continuous loop of proverbial violent stabs thus begins, each sinking deeper and deeper into his soul than the previous one with the reality of what was forced upon him. And a part of him even blames himself for the way things turned out to be. Maybe if he just accepted the truth, maybe if he gave _them_ a chance... maybe if... maybe, maybe, maybe... Pointless. He's Beckett's puppet now, chained by so many metaphorical irons, his honour, his need to be a worthy member of the Royal Navy again, the secret of his Omega nature, the Governor's life being in peril. Lost, his restored rank nothing but an insignificant element that brings with it self-loathing and remorse diguised by the very same uniform and sword that were taken away from him just hours ago. Amusing how fast they were returned to him as if everything had been a mere misunderstanding. He should be relieved that the Lord had been considerate enough to leave him to his own devices after he was freed, else he would've strangled the man regardless of the consequences.

 

He really doesn't know how long he's been standing here, rooted to the spot Jack left him in, lips tingling with the ghost of rum tinted lips while Jack's Alpha musk clings to his skin and clothes. The storage room is quiet,  disturbingly so, the sound of foaming waves crashing against rocks his only comrade in this solace, just like it has always been. Alone and open for the wolves to tear him apart piece by piece until all that is left is a broken creature with its raw heart exposed to the cruel chill of reality, struggling to beat. Nothing can change the downfall he has been destined for ever since he was born, nothing, no power of will, no love, and certainly not some nonsense about soulmates that is most likely true, but he still refuses to acknowledge. Yes, he regrets running like a coward he never thought he could be. Yes, he regrets not being strong enough to throw away the life he built and just chase love. But what good are regrets now when he already made the selfish choice of protecting himself and that life he almost lost? Even looking at the uniform brings a fresh sense of disgust at his own decision, feet mechanically taking him out the door and down the hall to his dreadful meeting with the midget, heedless of the scent he's bearing.

 

Soon, he stands before another closed, guarded door, one he dreads the thought of opening as his hand hovers over the lustrous wood. Hesitation makes his fingers twitch, but he knocks nonetheless, that damn airy voice he had the infeilicity of hearing many times over the years beckoning him to enter. He does, back straight, head held high and a mask of aloofness painting his pale complexion.

 

"Ah, Commodore, what a pleasant surprise."

 

They both know it's not a surprise at all, it was an order, but he lets the man sitting comfortably behind his study enjoy the irritating theatrics he has grown to love so much.

 

"Why am I here?"

 

"Tsk, tsk, so impatient. Where has your forbearance gone?"

 

Naturally, the question earns Beckett a spiteful glare.

 

"It died when you set foot on this island."

 

Contrary to what one might expect, the biting retort doesn't infuriate the Lord in the least. In fact, it only serves to lift his spirits, a smile spreading across his face as he stands up and walks around his desk, closer to the Omega.

 

"My, my, so rude. I must admit, I would have thought you better acquainted with manners, Mister Norrington, especially while addressing your superiors."

 

A heavy silence follows, the two men simply staring at each other with distaste and smugness, respectively. James can hear the sharp intake of breath coming from the short Beta.

 

"No matter. I am curious, however, your scent is not your own. Did you happen to run into our favourite pirate on your way here?"

 

"No."

 

His reply is curt, face impassive and cold, no signs giving away the rhythm of his heart racing in his ribcage because of his lie.

 

"Then tell me this. Why is the stench of that miscreant covering every inch of you?"

 

"Forgive my impudence, _sir_ , but it does not concern you."

 

Finally, something seems to snap and the Lord's expression darkens as he begins to circle James. It doesn't transcend the threatening presence of an enraged Alpha, but it's more than enough to make the hairs at the back of his nape stand on end. He flinches when he feels something sharp digging into his back. Beckett's sword.

 

"You will do well to remember the power I have over you next time you dare speak to me in such a deplorable fashion."

 

There's quite a long pause before the Englishman decides to break it, the point of his blade never wavering from its target.

 

"Kneel."

 

To say that James is perplexed would be an understatement. Green orbs go impossibly wide, body stiff as a board whilst his brain simply halts any cognitive processes it has the responsibility to conduct. It doesn't take long for Beckett to lose his patience due to lack of response, sword threatening to pierce through flesh if pushed forward any further. Shivers run up and down the newly reinvested Commodore's spine.

 

So, he kneels, muscles tense and almost trembling under the pressure of all the possibilities that could ruin him in the blink of an eye at this very moment. But the blade doesn't retreat, no, it slides across the expanse of his back and up to his neck before grazing his skin all the way to the front in perfect synchronisation with the midget's shuffles. Suddenly, he feels like the weak, helpless child who needed his father to protect him.

 

He doesn't even realise he shut his eyes until he is told to open them, the tip of the blade tracing meaningless patterns over his left cheek.

 

"Open your eyes, my dear Omega."

 

And he does.

 

And he hates how fast he obeys.

 

"Excellent. Now, be a good boy and unbutton my breeches."

 

A spark of defiance must have flashed in James' eyes because the unmistakable sting he feels is surely metal piercing flesh, drops of blood slowly trickling down the column of his neck only to stain the pristine white of his collar. He knows what the devil's spawn wants and he has no other option but to indulge his whims at the expense of the dignity he swore merely moments ago to not tarnish again. Oh, how far he has fallen indeed... Humiliating... Digits move with swift precision and the sole purpose to be done with this sickening act as quickly as possible.

 

"I trust you know what to do, _Commodore_."

 

Without even a glance at the man's victorious smirk, he takes the Lord's already half-hard member out of its confines, bile rising in his throat at the prospect of degrading himself in such a way. Summoning up whatever inner strength still dwelling inside him, he steadies his hold at the base of Beckett's cock, closing his eyes once more before he leans closer to lick the smooth head before taking it into his mouth, coaxing the flushed appendage to full hardness. Satisfied groans soon fill the room, hat and wig scattered somewhere on the floor, fingers buried in brown locks whilst the muscles of his throat convulse around the turgid flesh mercilessly fucking his mouth. What's worse, his own body is betraying him, his own rock-hard, untouched prick hanging heavily between his legs, damp with arousal.

 

His tattoo flares.

 

It feels like an eternity until his physiological needs finally have the audacity to catch up with his rationality and the desire to seek out pleasure soon wanes. Fortunately, so does the entire ordeal, bitter spurts of cum shooting down his gullet in a matter of minutes. Huh, at this point he should be thankful that at least the man didn't decide to defile him even more by finishing on his face. The sword which, peculiarly enough, didn't leave the proximity of his head for a second is finally withdrawn back into its leather sheath, a soft palm taking its former place on his cheek.

 

"Such a talented Omega."

 

Fury encrimsons his vision then and, before he can stop himself, he's up on his feet and his fist meets Beckett's nose with a nauseous crack, the Beta reeling back from the force of the impact. The commotion must have alerted the soldiers, for, in an instant, bayonets are pointed in his direction yet again. Yet this is not the bizarre part, no, that part is reserved for the almost eerie laugh leaving Beckett's bloodied lips.

 

"As spirited as ever, Commodore Norrington. I should hang you right now for this little escapade you pulled. However, I am a forgiving man. For the sake of your earlier 'performance', I will overlook this incident."

 

There's a tense pause before he continues, dabbing his chin and mouth with his handkerchief as the cold, emotionless tone in his voice begins to cynically describe the pain that awaits James should he ever disobey or bring him harm.

 

" _But_ , if you _ever_ do this again, I will break every bone in your body. I will let the entire detachment make good use of your little Omega hole. I will starve you, I will peel off your skin bit by bit, I will make you suffer until you will wish you were dead and, only then, when you'll be nothing more than a sack of meat and cartilages, will I grant you the mercy of drawing your last breath."

 

Madness. Pure madness plays across the Lord's face... and no one in the room really expected it, not even James. Of course, he knew Beckett to be one snotty, cruel bastard, but _this_... this utter... dementia definitely wasn't something that characterised the older man who mentored him briefly. Unfaltering, he looks him in the eye, blown pupils leering back at him.

 

"You leave tomorrow. Don't fail me. You know what will happen if you let him go again."

 

What transpired not too long ago should frighten him, should hinder him from glaring at the mad Lord, but it doesn't, eyes narrowing at the threat. Luckily, his display of resistance is intentionally ignored in favour of new orders to his old underlings.

 

"Gentlemen, please escort Commodore Norrington home."

 

Without further ado, except for a fleeting last glance at the madman, James turns around and follows the guards, gray eyes burning into his head even after the door closes behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware Beckett might be OOC, but this is a liberty and a risk I took because I thought it would be an interesting dynamic. For those of you who might not like my take on him, feel free to voice your complaints, it will help me change course if necessary.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry, [ Snowflake ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swowflake/pseuds/Swowflake)


	12. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to wish you all a happy, happy New Year, full of love and happiness!
> 
> Second. My God... I'm totally failing at writing this story. I feel like it's going nowhere and I so don't wish to disappoint you, guys. It's also been a long time since my last update and I apologise yet again, my brain is full of ideas that are pretty awesome, but can go out like a light when it comes to inspiration and it's so difficult to manage that.
> 
> Still, enjoy if you can! Hugs!

The sea welcomes Jack into its soothing abyss with the love of a mother who has been waiting for her child to run back into her arms. Cold ripples feel like needles on his skin, air leaving his lungs for a second as his body floats into dark ether before his limbs move to take him to the surface. It's refreshing when the cool wind caresses his face, a wake up call he very much needed in order to rally each and every ounce of power he has to save James not only from Beckett, but from whatever this thing between them will eventually lead to as well, a life threatening disaster without doubt. Still... he feels lost... Lost in the moonless night, his Pearl bleeding perfectly into the shadows, just like the feared ghost ship people think she is. On board, the crew grows restless. Something's wrong, they can all feel it, eerie and familiar and entirely unwanted. Adéwalé's hand is warm when he helps him up on deck without a word, three pairs of eyes boring into the pirate's tired ones with genuine worry shining in them. He shakes his head, preferring to ignore the unspoken emotions in favour of barking much-needed orders.

 

"Mister Gibbs! Anchors aweigh!"

 

"Aye, aye, Cap'n! Ye heard 'im, ye scurvy dogs, anchors aweigh!"

 

There is no need for further ado between them. Ever since they met a lifetime ago they found a connection one rarely has the luck of having. Thus, the brief eye contact they share now is more than enough to communicate the location they are heading to, an island known and feared by many, an island that shouldn't be as safe for them as it always has been is, an island full of sin and criminals. Tortuga.

 

It doesn't take long to set sail, all the commotion on board presenting Jack with the chance to run from questions he is not yet prepared to answer to, questions he won't be able to run from forever, but he will try... for this night, at least. Still drenched, water making his clothes cling to his body and crystals of salt crisping his skin to the point where it hurts with every blink, he grips the helm of the ship so tight his wrists are turning white. How he always finds himself in situation like these is a wonder. Not because his life is in peril or anything of the sort. No, that is not the unusual aspect. The real wonder is how the feeling everyone calls love, the feeling he likes to believe he never had, hits him every bloody time when he least expects it and involves persons he never truly saw as more than superficial vessels of physical attraction. To make things worse... or perhaps better, this is so much more than a simple feeling he developed, this is a soul bond, an old one at that from what he gathered. He really _is_ curious to find out more, but, at the same time, the potential sentimentality of a conversation about his predicament is something he's not entirely sure he wants at the moment.

 

Elizabeth makes his decision for him. He sees her climbing the creaking wooden stairs, soon close beside him, just looking unblinkingly whilst he doesn't let his eyes stray from their focus point of thin air ahead.

 

"Jack."

 

Her voice is a whisper reserved for scared children and animals, lacking the fire she usually displays through everything she says and does. A spark of anger heats his blood. He never enjoyed these careful tactics of approach, they make him feel pitied. Which he probably is. How dreadful. When he doesn't answer, her patience seems to falter, but she still holds a semblance of cautious tenderness in her words as she speak, so uncharacteristic it unsettles him.

 

"Jack, we need to talk. You know we have to, you can't run away from this... not this time."

 

No reaction.

 

"Jack."

 

Finally, he snaps, turning his head to glare at her with dark orbs.

 

"Aye, dear Elizabeth, we need t' talk, but do I wan' t'? No. Am I obliged t'? Again. No."

 

"Did I ever care about what you want?"

 

An aggravated sigh escapes past his lips then and he does wonder why he was ever inclined to consider what they had as friendship. Then again, she is not only his common sense, but Will's as well, the anchor that keeps their ships in place with her logic and fierceness and, for the blacksmith, passionate love. Perhaps that's why it grows more and more difficult to refuse her whims. He smiles. A fond smile reserved for a select few.

 

"Ye ne'er did, lass, ye ne'er did."

 

She laughs, light and easy, like the smooth rocking of the ship, and it lifts a bit of the weight crushing his heart. Neither notices Cotton coming behind them until his parrot "speaks" and they flinch.

 

"Natter! Natter! Cap'n squiffy, Cap'n squiffy!"

 

This earns the nosy bird a very Sparrow-esque glare with mirth underlaying the slight annoyance of the pirate.

 

"Bloody bird. All right, helm's all yers, Cotton."

 

Will's and Adéwalé's inquisitive stares follow them from afar as they stroll down the stairs, but the warning shadowing Jack's eyes is enough to let Elizabeth know that what they are about to speak is to be their secret. So, they wave them off both literally and figuratively before entering his cabin.

 

For a long while, the only sound filling the room is Jack's fumbling to find a bottle of rum that in the end eludes him completely. Hands resting on the table, head hung low in defeat? Frustration? Silent fury? She watches him. She tracks each and every movement with sympathetic glances, each tremble, each sigh, each tense muscle, before taking a few steps closer until her hand can slide up to his shoulder.

 

"You couldn't have done anything, you know that. He wouldn't have left no matter what you said, not with my father still there."

 

He bites his lower lip so hard it starts to bleed. Not because she isn't right, but because he is afraid... afraid that if he pours out his soul he will break. Instead, he lets the warmth of her palm comfort him whilst he take in a deep breath. A flicker of pride wells in his chest when he manages to find his voice.

 

"Tell me, Lizzie... tell me what we are."

 

And she does.

 

◇◇◇

 

When all is said and done, his mind is foggy with the reality of what they are. Soulmates... ancient soulmates at that... How absurd to most people this would be... Yet here he is, mythological tattoo etched onto his skin and itching because their bearers are apart. After a life of mystical, supernatural escapades for treasures and myths, he thought he'd seen it all. Oh, how wrong he was.

 

"So... I am th' son o' a god... 'n I 'ave a soulmate... Me... th' scourge of th' Seven Seas."

 

"Well, r-"

 

Suddenly, the ship sways violently, sending them to the floor as maps fly everywhere, empty bottles and other unidentified objects crashing all around them.

 

The world is spinning as a veil of quiet tension thickens the air akin to the calm before a devastating storm. They are not prepared for the screams that follow, all hell breaking loose on deck, muffled by the cabin's closed door. It's all it takes for them to jump to their feet and unsheathe their cutlasses. Slowly, they tiptoe closer to the door, stepping to the side instantly to hide when a faceless shadow plasters itself to the murky glass set in wood. Their eyes meet then and they nod, pushing the doors open with one fluid move. Blood and mangled bodies greet them among the fighting survivors, horror transfigurating Elizabeth's expression when she catches no sight of Will. But there is no time for that, there is no time for uncertainty or pain. They have to fight.

 

They charge.

 

A piercing screech echoes.

 

Then... it's dark.

 

◇◇◇

 

James' tattoo burns bright on his wrist, scorching his skin as he writhes in agony and twists the sheets.


	13. Night of the Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person... and I'm sorry. It's been so long since I updated and I feel horrible. What makes me even more horrible is that I'm posting such a short chapter after such a lengthy absence. I also apologise if it is repetitive, but I barely managed to make my brain work in my favour on this one. Still, I hope it didn't turn out that bad, considering the fact that I kind of thought about giving up on this story. Fortunately, I'm not the type to give up so easily, but my research paper definitely took a lot of my creativity down with it.
> 
> Enjoy!

It's quiet, so, so quiet when she comes to again, the peaceful sound of waves reaching here before the sting of their salt as they ripple on her open wounds. She opens her eyes. It's darker, so much darker than what she remembers before everything went black. The moon is hiding behind clouds of onyx, the stars barely twinkling on the sky. It smells like death and feels like ice, the acrid stench of burnt flesh mixing with the iron scent of blood as it taints the glacial waters. Bodies float around her, each in its own state of mangled parts, but there's no ship, the Pearl long gone. And there's no Will, and there's no Jack... and she is all alone, tied to a barrel in the middle on the Seven Seas, her life slowly draining from the deep slash in her abdomen.

 

And, as her heartbeat becomes slower with each passing second, and her eyes begin to close, all she hears is a deafening silence and all she feels is a numb sense of peace.

 

◇◇◇

 

He drifts in and out of consciousness while the piece of wood he swam his way onto dances along with the waves. As if in a dream, he feels viscous hands hoist him out of the water, voices filtering through his ears and reaching his brain before they fade away altogether.

 

It's dark. A cold slide of flesh makes him shiver.

 

◇◇◇

 

By the time morning comes, nothing but a dull ache is left of the once excruciating pain that decorated his skin with burns and blisters. Emotions that are not his own drown him in surges, fear the strongest of them all. And yet... he feels numb, exhausted and, if he's going to be honest, almost half-dead, an iciness settling deep in his bones as heavy eyelids blink open with tremendous effort. Vision blurry, pupils straining in vain to focus on anything they can catch sight of, every joint, every muscle, every cell in James' body struggles to cooperate with his brain's commands to _move_ , to get up and prepare for the dreadful mission he's been sent on.

 

He's failing miserably.

 

Minutes tick by, and the only movement he's able to make is lift his arm, fingers spread over the white canvas of the ceiling. There's not really any surprise when he sees the scorched skin of his arm, pink and red blending into nuances of raw flesh. The tattoo is still glowing, but barely, and it makes him wonder... why does it always have to be him, why is he always the one to suffer and fight for the happiness that slips through his fingers the second he grasps it. Still, under all these layers of distaste for his current situation, dwells worry... for the tattoo's light never dimmed once from the moment it somehow inked itself into his skin. Now, all that's left is a slowly fading aura, pulsing sporadically over his wrist along with the blood pumping through his heart.

 

And, damn it, something in the back of his mind tells him he already knows what's wrong, but he refuses to even acknowledge that. Ironic. Not long ago, the only goal he strived for was to see the pirate dangling from the noose. It's strange how life can be turned upside down so fast, so easy, how enemies can become something more, how hate can slowly fade into love... and, perhaps it's better this way, perhaps something good might come out of it, despite the forming void in the pit of his stomach.

 

He stares at his wrist for a while longer before urging his body to get out of bed, eyes glancing with disdain first at the vial of suppressants on his desk, then at the mocking uniform draped on the chair, wishing, for the first time, that he had chosen a different path.

 

Later, when the pompous material seems too tight and suffocating as he stands before the _Dauntless_ , Beckett and his lackey beside him, he wishes nothing more than to die.

 

"It is a beautiful day to catch a pirate, wouldn't you agree, Commodore?"

 

James doesn't answer.

 

"Ah, I cannot decide if your silence pleases me or not, Commodore. It is rather... disheartening to see such lack of initiative. Perhaps I should append further motivation. What do you think, Mister Mercer, are you prepared to join the Commodore in his quest?"

 

Green eyes widen for a split second before narrowing again. The reaction doesn't go unnoticed, however, even whilst his lips remain set in a hard line.

 

"I trust you will accomplish this mission, Commodore, it would be a shame to turn such a fine officer into a breeder."

 

The ridicule in Beckett's tone is more than obvious, and James desperately wants to run the man through right then and there, to see the blood drain from his veins, but he refrains, giving a slight nod instead.

 

"I wish you good fortune."

 

Planks creak under his feet as he makes his way on deck, Mercer's shadow lurking behind him, the Lord's words echoing inside his head long after they set sail.

 

◇◇◇

 

Yellow orbs glow sinisterly in the aqueous abyss, transfixed on the human caged inside the vitreous sphere, wild, ravenous, jaws eager to crush bones, fangs longing to shred flesh, tongues yearning to taste blood.


	14. Here There Be Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo! I worked hard to finish this chapter so that I can keep some kind of updating schedule. It's longer this time and I hope more interesting as well. New meetings are in order and the fate of some characters remains a mystery for now.
> 
> Enjoy!

Opening his eyelids is a terribly difficult task when his entire body hurts and seems to be literally on fire. Fortunately, he is no stranger to pain and manages this feat rather quickly, teeth grinding painfully as he tries to move before falling back on his side. Metal bars, covered in seaweed and barnacles, greet his blurry vision, the smell of stale water and algae invading his nostrils. Assessing his surroundings further, he finally realises where he is. The brig. And it looks like he's the sole prisoner on yet another ship, its tranquil rocking a pure temptation for Will to give in to his exhaustion. But there is no time for that, an eery feeling twisting in the pit of his stomach. Who is the captain... why did he save him... so many questions. After his last adventure, nothing seems impossible anymore, and, judging by the way this vessel looks, he's in for one hell of a ride. 

 

A rhythmic sound, like tapping footsteps against wood, reaches his ears and he looks up. What he sees is enough to make him still in stupefaction. And he thought he'd seen it all. Whatever this creature is before him, it certainly has the scent of an Alpha and looks like it has materialised out of someone's nightmares, viscous tentacles akin to those of an octopus hanging from his mottled, green-skinned and noseless face. Cryptic blue-grey orbs peer right into his soul as they stare at each other in silence. To say that he is not afraid would be a disgraceful and colossal lie. His heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest, his breath is ragged and his body struggles not to shudder uncontrollably, his inside quivering instead.

 

"What is your name, boy?"

 

He swallows the lump in his throat.

 

"Will... Will Turner."

 

"Aaah, welcome aboard Master Turner, your father used to blabber quite a lot about you."

 

"My father!?!! What do you know about my father!?"

 

His muscles burn from the abrupt movement whilst he darts forward to wrap his fingers around the cold bars, wrists turning white with the force of his grip. He doesn't back down when the humanoid squid bends, face inches away from his own.

 

"Tell me, Master Turner, do you fear death?"

 

Brown eyes lock onto blue ones, defiance shining bright.

 

"If you didn't want something from me, you would've killed the second you saw me."

 

A laugh resounds.

 

"Spirited lad."

 

He does not expect the claw shooting through the bars, its clench tight around his neck.

 

"Do not test me."

 

"What do you want from me?"

 

"Is it not obvious? Or did you not see the markings on your skin?"

 

Confused orbs look at the man questioningly, the claw loosening its hold until it begins to retract altogether.

 

"Look down, Master Turner. What do you see?"

 

And, as he does, intricate swirls of black and crimson crackle on his skin like embers, radiant and ardent as they scorch his arms and legs.

 

◇◇◇

 

In the fiery heat of the sun, the _Pearl_ sails, smooth and calm, in tandem with the waves. Its barren, bloodied deck creaks with the wind, the smell of death and decay permeating the air, a black swan alone in the middle of the Seven Seas, at its helm nothing but a broken man.

 

◇◇◇

 

James spends the day watching the undulating waves as they glisten in the golden sunlight, seagulls soaring high in the clear blue sky. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him sweeping over him from time to time, one burning into his back with concern and restlessness, the other cold, devious, calculating as its holder waits for his next strike. But, aside from that and the occasional orders, no one dares to engage in unnecessary conversation, they all are too aware of the state of mind he is in, even though no one understands why. Of course, every member of the crew sensed, more or less, the tension between the Commodore and Beckett, the latent abhorrence rolling off their leader in silent surges of anger. His aversion is, unsurprisingly, shared by his men, but, oh, if only they knew the truth. Would they still feel the same way? Would they choose to remain under his command if they find out what his real nature is? Would they still respect him? Or would they turn their backs on him, demanding his demotion, using him for the purpose he was born to fulfill?

 

Sadly, he already knows far too well what their reaction would be... except for Groves, who has accepted this reality without question, and perhaps Gillette, who, despite sometime being quite obnoxious, seems to have a similar moral compass that prompts different views of the world and the people in it, views of equality in every aspect of the word. He prays that he will not have to find out soon, if ever at all, he has enough worries as it is. Which brings his train of thought to Mercer, despicable, cunning Ian Mercer. In his brief mentorship unde Beckett's wing, he remembers seeing the man only once, but that was of no importance to him at the time, he was too focused on proving his worth to everyone, but, most of all, to himself. What he does remember distinctly, is the stain of red smeared over one of Mercer's sleeves and the ominous smile sent his way when their eyes met, a shiver of utter apprehension threatening to make his entire body shake. There was something sinister about the lord's assistant, an awry aura following him everywhere, not that Beckett didn't already have that effect on him, but, compared to the then East India Trading Company's governor, Mercer certainly didn't even try to hide his darker, ruthless side.

 

Since then, nothing much has changed about the Scotsman, same dubious intentions, same minatory bearing. From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the former clerk, right in time to see him avert his stare from James. It comes as no surprise that the Commodore's every move is kept under utmost observation, that's why Mercer has been sent on this mission after all. What is deeply unsettling is that James knows nothing about the man's instructions, he doesn't know what to expect and, if he is honest, this fact brings along a sentiment of fear.

 

Hours pass by, the azure the sky turning to a canvas of nuances, crimson, orange and yellow burning out with the sun as they reflect on the luscious surface of the water. On deck, the constant buzzing of the crew slowly dies down with each gilded ray transformed into a star, until it's just him, staring into nothingness, thoughts and emotions roaring inside his entire being. He's so tired, so, so tired... yet, at this point, his body is working almost automatically, still standing on its feet out of sheer will, deprived of food or water for a whole day, a living ghost breathing in the night. A sudden sting, makes tense muscles twitch under painfully dry skin. The tattoo seems to think differently... if it even has the capacity to think. In a flash, reality rushes in with the force of a typhoon, sounds and sensations sending his sense into overdrive as though they have been turned off until now. His hands tighten on the wooden edge of the ship as he hunches over, lungs suddenly filled with too much air, heart beating fast, eyes pulsing with the effort of keeping them closed.

 

The pain on his wrist is fresh, harrowing, but he welcomes it, he enjoys it while it grows stronger and stronger with each passing second, as if it is aware of something that he's not.

 

"Commodore! Commodore!"

 

He can barely hear the footsteps rushing towards him over the blood pounding in his ears. Familiar hands grip his shoulders, shaking him while his mind tries to concentrate on the panicked voice shouting a mantra of worried words.

 

The tattoo flares. 

 

Trembling fingers close around his wrist in an instant, a groan rumbling in his chest, throat constricting around the scream that threatens to escape from his lungs.

 

"Commodore! Are you all right!? Can you hear me!?! Co-"

 

"Lieutenant! Shipwreck ahead!"

 

The helmsman's yell breaks through the fog in his head, eyes snapping open for enough time to see Groves reluctant stare before his hands leave James' shoulders and he stands up to see what the commotion is about. Part of the crew is already on deck, tousled and armed, prepared for whatever is waiting for them. Distress and horror lace the men's voices as they murmur either prayers or curses with different of levels of obscenity.

 

It's more than enough for James to urge his trembling legs to support his weight, fingers digging into wood whilst his arms struggle to pull him up. The sight that greets him is gruesome. Mutilated bodies taint the water with gallons upon gallons of black blood, heads with haunted eyes still open floating along with detached limbs and pieces of a missing ship. One body, in particular, draws his attention. Tied to a barrel, long hair spread over dark timber, it seems lifeless, but instinct, together with a sense of familiarity, make themselves known and he decides to bring it on board.

 

A boat is prepared for him and Groves. It's not that he doesn't trust his men, but this matter is something they shouldn't get involved with, it feels strangely personal. No one questions it, not even Mercer, who watches them quietly. Bile rises in his throat as they paddling through the sea of corpses. The closer they get, the more their olfactive sensors pick up a trace of an estompated, quite familiar scent, the slim figure and golden locks spread over dark timber indicating that it is a woman.

 

His eyes widen.

 

"Elizabeth!"

 

They row faster.

 

Pale and motionless, she shows no sign of consciousness when they get there, crimson contrasting with the black tarnishing the sea.

 

As they cut the ropes holding her to the barrel, neither man notices the same dark ink plastering itself to the boat.


	15. Origins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little delayed, but here it is! The 15th chapter! I think the longest one so far, with a little bit of backstory involved along with some complicated Greek mythology I intended to explain in the end note, but I don't have the energy to right now. Oh, and also a character you might have not expected to appear.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clawed fingers trace the hyaline surface of the sphere, eager to shred tanned skin, to sink into tanned flesh and see the blood running underneath, let his tongue revel in its irony taste. Pain and revenge are no strangers to love. He is certainly no stranger to them either. They dance and weave around each other, inseparable, passionate, different, yet somehow identical in their essence, always lurking in the shadows when one of them fails. For him, it's been thousands and thousands of years, an eternity, of losing his paramour over and over again to a destiny that refuses to let him find happiness.

 

He remembers the first time he saw _him_ like it was yesterday, porcelain skin glowing in the sunlight, dark locks flowing in the wind akin to the spumous waves meeting the sand under bare feet as they gracefully stepped along the shoreline. Such a mortal beauty in a world ruled by gods, ephemeral in its fragility, alluring in its innocence. That had always been what fascinated immortals about humans, and Phorkys had been no different. The desire to reach out, to take, the longing to feel, even just for a moment, _human_ had been... still is... so utterly strong, so overwhelming. Many before him had been enchanted by this foreign, beautiful, _unique_ concept called humanity.

 

Eros married Psyche and she became a goddess.

 

Orpheus followed Eurydice into the Underworld so that they could be together for eternity.

 

Even _Aphrodite_ ,  the only one who has supreme power over all beings, be they mortal or immortal, suffered and still suffers, ironically, from the same "hex" that she casts constantly. Love. Just like her son, Eros, she only had eyes for a human, a young _boy_ named Adonis, wild spirit, beautiful countenance, but reckless all the same. Death soon claimed him, roses rising from his blood, pain shattering the goddess' heart. Feeling the torment of his daughter, and holding pity for the untimely demise of such a pure soul, Zeus let the human come back to life every spring to spend time with Aphrodite in the land of sunshine. Thus, each spring, pearls of joy mingle with snowflakes of sorrow as the two lovers renounce the warmth of their embrace whilst the flowers wither and Hades opens the gates for Adonis' soul at autumn's first morrow.

 

 _"Such nonsense"_ he thought, in the beginning, no god would even look at these insignificant,  _unworthy_ creatures they somehow decided to cohabit with, let alone fall in love with one of them. But, deity after deity, the world of immortals had been slowly captivated by this bewitching weakness, and, despite his refusal to give credence to that reality, he envied those who found their halves in humans. He dwelled in resentment for a long time before the Moirai deemed him meritorious of this experience.

 

And what a short-lived gift it had been... No one to be blamed, but himself... for he had been a coward not to court the human when he had the chance, afraid of rejection and the pain that was to come. In the end, he lost... Blinded by rage, thirsty for blood, he killed the son of Helios in his rampage... and the sun _burned_ him for it, _cursed_ him for it, imprisoning him in the darkest depths of Poseidon's waters, a king of nightmares and monsters, haunted by the memory of sea-green orbs and an angelic soul.

 

Then, Keto was born, fiery, strong, intelligent, beautiful Keto, and, for a few centuries, she had been enough of a distraction. The daughter of Gaia and Pontus, his  _sister_ , captured his affection in an instant, her charm and quick wit radiating in the dark he'd been anathematised with.

 

One day, she proclaimed her love for him, unease so clear in emerald eyes. Foolish as he's always been, he kissed her right away, long and passionate, all the emotions locked inside him pouring out like a wild torrent along with a sense of bliss he'd been yearning for since that dreadful day. He asked her to become his wife, thinking it would change his agonising amaranthine life, then came the birth of their first child, Deino. How beautiful she'd been when he laid eyes on her, a crown of gray hair framing her small face. But, her fairness was never meant to last, wrinkles and unnatural old age soon transforming her features and, after that, her sisters'. Then came the Gorgons, cursed by Athena with undulating tresses of snakes and hideous features that turned all those who beheld them to stone. Echidna was born next, half a nymph with glancing eyes and fair cheeks, half an atrocious viper with speckled skin. The Sirens were no different, more dangerous than their siblings for their monstrosity lurked on the inside whilst their beauty and enchanting songs lured sailors to their deaths, fangs and hisses glinting in the abyss of the sea. His youngest child had also been his only son, a dragon serpent to whom Keto gave the name of Ladon, twined and twisted around the tree of golden apples in the garden of his sisters, the Hesperides, beguiling nymphs just like Thoosa and Skylla. If only Amphitrite hadn't cursed Skylla out of jealousy... she would have been happy now... but then again, he is not so why would his lineage be different. All but a few cursed or dead, like the unexpectedly mortal Medusa...

 

Oh, how wrong he's been about his happiness. His sister's love had not been nearly enough to quench neither his frustration with fate that plagued his heart permanently, nor his desire for what had been forever lost. He accepted them as the obsessions they indeed were and are to this day, but he has one regret. Keto didn't deserve to suffer all these millenia of heartache, unrequited love and latent infidelity.

 

Misfortune after misfortune cut through him since the very moment he felt desire for a human, but, masochistic as it seems, he doesn't regret it one bit. Standing here and now, before the man he bled into the sea a thousand years ago, he finally feels he that has another chance to make the love that he once lost his own.

 

◇◇◇

 

Gibbs doesn't really know how or when he lost consciousness, but he did. What he does know, is that it definitely didn't happen on land, much less by a fire. Shadows play before his eyes as a gentle breeze caresses his sunburnt skin, flames flickering along with. His ears are ringing, a throbbing pain assaulting his entire head while muffled crunching sounds slowly filter through.

 

"I warned ye once. Here there be monsters."

 

He groans, gritting his teeth until it hurts.

 

_"That voice... it seems... familiar... who..."_

 

"Ye didn' listen."

 

Realisation hits. His mouth moves without his consent, hands scrambling to push him up into a sitting position.

 

"Barbossa!"

 

The world spins around him, eyelids closing instantly to shield his pupils from the hazy mess whilst his hands move to hold his head steady. A screech he recognises all too well comes from the other pirate. That bloody monkey. His eardrums didn't need that. They stay in silence for a while, a strangely considerate gesture coming from the ruthless Alpha, the man has no reason to coddle him, a Beta no less. Last they saw each other, they were enemies. Nothing changed, he assumes. The pain in his skull drops to a dull ache after a few minutes and he dares to open his eyes. his surroundings are no longer spinning, but his mouth is suddenly so, so dry, every inch of skin on his body feeling like it's slowly tightening into a painful pattern of wrinkles.

 

"Thirsty, aye?"

 

Lifting his gaze from his trembling fingers, he sees the waterskin presented to him. He takes it without a word, gulping down the fresh water like it is life itself. Well... in a way, it really is. His voice is raspy when he finally speaks.

 

"Where are we?"

 

"Cuba. Th' real riddle be how did ye get me ship in tha' terrible shape. 'twill loot ages t' wash out th' blood... 'n th' smell..."

 

Everything flashes in his mind's eye, so clear, so _vivid_. He can hear the screams echoing around him, he can feel the cold shivers raking his body as faceless shadows slaughtered each and every member of the crew right before his eyes. He remembers seeing Jack's unconscious form being dragged overboard. He remembers Will falling into the roaring waves. He remembers Elizabeth's howl as a cutlass pierced her flesh.

 

"Gibbs!"

 

Immersed in the nightmare playing again and again in his head, he didn't realise he spaced out.

 

" 'tis a bloody long tale..."

 

◇◇◇

 

On board the Dauntless, unrest settled in from the moment they found Elizabeth, all soldiers back to their stations, looking out for any potential danger. On deck, outside his cabin, James paces back and forth, frustrated with the helplessness tearing at his insides as their physician cleans and mends Elizabeth's wounds. He'd been reluctant to let the man tend to her, considering the fact that she had to be undressed, but no one on the ship could do that, so he accepted it with little opposition. From the corner of his eye, he sees Mercer watching him yet again. Blood boils under his skin, but he ignores the urge to simply throw the man overboard.

 

"Sir."

 

Groves' voice interrupts his chaotic train of thought, and he turns his attention to him instead.

 

"Yes, lieutenant"

 

"There are no other survivors. What are your orders?"

 

His mind is all but focused at the moment, a disarray of fear, worry and emotions he can't quite identify. He is certainly not suited for giving orders in his condition.

 

"I leave the command of the ship to you, lieutenant, until Miss Swann awakens."

 

Brown orbs widen slightly before returning to their serious state.

 

"Yes, sir!"

 

The officer leaves without further ado, the thump of his boots fading away on the stairs as James loses himself into his dread again.

 

It takes him by surprise when the door to his cabin opens, a short statured old man emerging from behind, glasses slipping down his plump nose.

 

"I did my best to disinfect and dress the wound, sir... but she has a fever. I administered cinchona powder, but I'm not sure if it will have the desired effect."

 

Desperation.

 

"Is there nothing else that can be done?"

 

A moment of hesitation.

 

"I'm afraid not, sir. Only time will tell."

 

A few seconds of silence follow, neither uttering a word. The Commodore speaks first.

 

"Thank you. You are dismissed."

 

With careful steps, he enters his cabin, closing the door as quietly as he can. From a distance, he can see Elizabeth's pale face, a frown etched on her sweaty forehead while her breathing stutters. To see her like this... so weak... so vulnerable... it breaks his heart over and over again. To know that he can't do anything to change the way things are... it obliterates his hope entirely.Closing the distance, he grabs one of the chairs nearby, setting it beside the bed. He sits, taking her cold hand into his warm one.

 

He says nothing, his vocal chords do not cooperate well enough for that. He only stares as her eyes roll frantically behind closed lids, whimpers leaving her lungs.

 

Shadows move across the wooden floor, under the bed.

 

He does not see.

 


	16. What is Dream and What is Reality?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2324 words... wow... I've outdone myself this time :))) I have the feeling that it's beginning to get kind of boring and I don't know what to do, long stories are so not my type. I've also been trying to weasel Beckett somewhere in there, but every time I make an attempt it just goes down extremely fast. I hope that in the next chapter I will be able to do so. 
> 
> The sub-element of A/B/O dynamics is almost non-existent too and I was wondering if I should edit the story and take it out, though that means I should find a way to link J n J through something else in the beginning. God, the life of a writer is so hard...
> 
> Well, show must go on I guess, I really don't want to give up on this story, but it's getting more and more difficult to progress so my updating pattern will certainly continue to fluctuate along with my #studentlife as the last one is slowly coming to an end (well... at least the bachelor part of it).
> 
> Enjoy!

The darkness is deafening in its muteness, eery and perpetual. It's cold, freezing, his body numb and motionless. He wants to move, he wants to speak. He tries. He fails. Fear. He feels sinister eyes staring at him, wild with hunger.

 

He cannot see.

 

A loud tap.

 

So loud.

 

His heart threatens to burst out of his chest. A new pair of orbs slide over his makes his mind reel. New, but strangely familiar... ominous... deadly. As if a noose keeps tightening around his neck, the muscles in his throat suddenly constrict.

 

It's suffocating.

 

Suddenly, black fades into white and shapes begin to slowly form before eyes that are his own, yet, at the same time, belong to someone else entirely. The deep blue of the sea blinds him for a moment, sunlight reflecting on the undulating surface. A small fleet of ships draws his attention, peculiar and graceful in their intricate design. Three files of oarsmen are rowing on each side, square sails made of what seems to be papyrus decorating the two existing masts, a main one and a small foremast, while two long oars at the stern, one at port, the other at starboard, are used for steering. He has seen this kind of ship before... a galley of some kind, foreign and quite old, but he can't remember where...

 

Out of nowhere a gust of wind sends him flying and he urges his arms to move. But his arms don't do that, no, they don't because he doesn't have arms. Instead, light brown wings are flapping frantically to stop his very apparent, very rapid descent towards the water. Just like that, he realises how utterly non-metaphorical this whole experience is. He realises that he's actually flying, and, most important of all, that he is some kind of bird, small and struggling to regain its balance in the air. He is not surprised, per se, it's not the strangest thing he has ever experienced. Being part of the walking dead far exceeds the outlandishness of this transformation.

 

After a few violent twists, the world finally stops spinning and, despite his hazy vision, he manages to regain his focus on the vessels. The image of a drawing flashes in his mind. He saw it once, in a book he stole when he was a child. A copy of the very same galleys he's seeing right now.

 

_Triērēs._

 

The word rolls oddly off his tongue, a language he has heard a few times during his adventures, but he couldn't get the grasp of it not one bit. Triērēs... What did it mean... Ah, three-rowers. That's what they're called. Ancient galleys used by the Greeks and Romans.

 

From here, everything about the situation becomes even more bizarre. Such vessels shouldn't roam the Seven Seas anymore, let alone the Caribbean region. They seem... out of place, and even more so, out of time... A feeling nags at him then. It tells him that he is wrong about something in this assumption of his... It takes only a few seconds for his brain to catch up with a peculiar possibility. What if they actually aren't out of their time. What if _he_ is the one out of _his_ time.

 

He resolves to get a closer look. Soaring through the skies is nothing if not mesmerising. The caress of the wind ruffling his feathers, the warmth of the sun bathing him in its light, the soft vapors of the clouds swirling around him, cool and gentle. He thought he knew how it feels to be free, all he ever needed was his Pearl and the sea, but the constant hunt of his kind that the navy has been on for quite some time always fueled a rush of fear, only kept under control because of his confidence, cleverness, faith and courage. He might sound narcissistic, but it's true, and, in his defence, he never said morality, selflessness or any other trait that righteous people tend to possess. The choice he made for his name is without doubt linked to the freedom of being a pirate. A symbol of Aphrodite, of souls ascending to the heavens and, thereby, a symbol of death as well, he felt a connection to the sparrow, for the bird, just like the swallow tattooed on his wrist, it gives him the same sense of tranquility, of _belonging_.

 

He chose to call himself Sparrow. For obvious reasons.

 

The tattoo, on the other hand, is a tradition among sailors, a tradition that he wanted to keep. Not because he wanted to reach some unspeakable divine absolution so that the swallows could carry his soul to God, no, he has never believed in such things, he has seen far too much, but because they represent _him_ , because they represent _freedom_ , because they _guide_ him. Petite creatures, dancing in the sky without a care in the world, that's what the once scrawny boy dreamt to become one day. In the end, it turns out this is the first and only time he will know what it means to be truly free.

 

Sadly, the same cannot be said about the seemingly endless rows of men oaring the sea restlessly to keep the galleys afloat and moving, some slaves, some free men by the looks of it. Adéwalé's emaciated and battered body flashes before his eyes then, weak, starving and sick, nothing but a lad far too young to be used in such a gruesome way. Disgusting. This image always stayed with him, and this image was the reason he chose to liberate the one hundred souls abused by the East India Trading Company. Pompous bastards, thinking themselves above everyone else when, in truth, most of them are the scums of the earth, false martyrs of the British Empire who pretend morality and benevolence while their hunger for power lies at the heart of their actions, blind to the lives they take along the way and those they destroy beyond repair, blind to the destruction they perpetuate. Ironically, they are far more dangerous than pirates have ever been, dark souls led on by hidden agendas in opposition to hedonistic, not always twisted souls true to themselves and the world around them in their honest crimes and pleasures.

 

Who are, then, the real monsters in this continuous loop they call life?

 

The answer depends on who you ask, sometimes satisfying, other times rather disappointing in its simplicity, no questions asked.

 

He watches the vessels for quite some time, spirit resonating with those trapped in servility. The pain soon reaches its apex, and the wind decides to take him away from the sight.

 

In the distance, a lone boat catches his interest and, without his volition, his wings take him there in an instant. He realises, then, that he has no control over this body, only his thoughts, thoughts that are his own and yet feel like they belong to someone else as well.

 

Chestnut locks flow in tandem with the breeze and waves, a soft tune reaching his sensitive, enchanting, melancholic in its tranquil rhythm. Entranced by the angelic voice, he isn't prepared for the shrilling caws and charcoal feathers that surround him, sharp talons and pointed beaks sinking into his flesh from all directions.

 

Then, he's falling.

 

Left wing broken, he tries in vain to stop his descent with the other. To no avail. It won't work this time. He feels the blood slowly pouring out of two holes in his chest, heart almost pounding out of its safe cavity. When water finally engulfs is tiny body, it is soothing. Peaceful. The eyes on him no longer there.

 

Light fading into darkness as he drowns in its embrace.

 

◇◇◇

 

Staring insistently at his patterned legs, back propped against the damp wall of the cage, he ponders how the hell he somehow always ends up in these situations. Whatever the answer is, one thing is certain, it still is an inexplicable mystery. First, the walking dead, then an Aztec curse, now a giant squid going by the name of Davy Jones. At least, the creature had the goodwill to give his name before he left, leaving the young blacksmith perplexed and in burning agony.

 

It took the pain a while to hit him, but when it did, bloody hell, it hit him with the worst intensity he has ever felt. Then, of course, he made the mistake of trying to move his legs and it all went downhill from there. Tear tracks are now adorning his red cheeks, jaw aching from how hard he is grinding his teeth. And the monster just left him there! How is he supposed to figure out what this... whatever this is, if he can't even move, goddamn it!

 

Bumping his head hard against the wall, he closes his eyes, exhaustion creeping up on him already. With no options of escaping in sight, he comes to the conclusion that it's better to wait for the opportunity, rather than create it. That would use too much of his already drained energy.

 

Perhaps his dreams will tell him something that he doesn't know.

 

_William..._

.

.

.

.

_William..._

 

◇◇◇

 

The horrid sound of cracking bones echoes in the watery depths, pained groans accompanying each twist and rupture as the grotesque body of her daughter shifts to its more humanoid form right before Keto's eyes. It has always been a wonder for her how Skylla is capable of enduring such an ordeal... one born out of jealousy, one she didn't deserve just because she was desired by the wrong god. Circe should be dead for everything she's done, not leisurely spending her time exiled on a damn island. Countless times, Keto imagined how she would dry the witch of her ichor, how she would cut the nymph's head then let it rot in the power of her own father's light, Helios. But... she never had the chance and... perhaps it is for the better.

 

A breathless snaps her out of her vengeful thoughts and she is by her daughter's side in an instant, gentle fingers tracing pale skin as they check for any wounds before they wrap around the exhausted girl, pulling her into a tight embrace in a desperate attempt to alleviate her child's pain.

 

"Make it stop, mitéra... Please... make it stop..."

 

Each time one bones break, excruciating pain follows. The transition from monster to a half-human with a serpent's tail is beyond agony, it is a level of torture few gods can endure. And yet... Skylla does it frequently, she accepted it as part of her a long time ago. She is one with the pain and the pain is one with her.

 

"Shh, my child, it will be over soon enough."

 

◇◇◇

 

"A bright light... everywhere around th' Pearl... tha's all I can rememb'r. Then I tried to steer to as long as I could. It didn' go so well..."

 

They stay in silence for a few moments, each lost in their of thoughts before the older pirate decides to speak.

 

"Ye be lucky ye're alive, Gibbs, th' graiai ne'er leave survivors."

 

Weary eyes widen.

 

"Ye know wha' came aft us!?"

 

"Aye. Three wenches commandin' an army o' shadows. I was a lad when I saw th'm fer th' first 'n only time, cap'n o' a bloody schooner. Fate was on me side tha' day, me crew mutinied, else I wouldn' be 'ere right now, tellin' th' tale. They cut off me leg th'n threw me o'erboard, tied t' a plank, fresh meat fer th' sharks. I was still awake when thar screams started 'n some kin' o' black tar cov'red th' ship. I only survived 'cause they prolly thought I was already dead..."

 

Although distraught bu this bit of information, the tremor in Barbossa's voice is not lost on Gibbs. It is rather rare for an ALpha to display fear, most consider it to be a disgraceful weakness. He does not comment on it, however, the time for teasing has long passed.

 

"They took Jack..."

 

The lost expression on Barbossa's face turns to one of surprise in a heartbeat.

 

"Sparrow!? Wha' could they possibly want wit' 'im..."

 

"I don't know..."

 

"Aye, but I know someone who does."

 

◇◇◇

 

_Σκότωσέ τον..._

.

.

.

.

_Σκότωσέ τον..._

.

.

.

.

_ΣΚΟΤΩΣΕ ΤΟΝ!_

 

Brown orbs snap open, aghast, pupils blown so wide that the iris is nothing but a sliver of colour contouring abysmal black. They close again quickly, her body catching up with her in seconds as it springs into a sitting position, mouth agape with the effort to inhale as much air into her lungs as she can.

 

"Eli-...- be-... E-...za-... -beth..."

 

Muffled words mingle with thump of her blood roaring in her ears, a thundering pain piercing through her skull at the mere attempt to move her head or open her tightly shut eyelids. Hands touch her shoulders, pulling, shaking her slightly, yet gentle in their rush to stabilise her.

 

The voice gets louder.

 

"El-... -za-... -eth..."

 

And louder, clearer.

 

"Eliza-... -th...!"

 

Familiar.

 

"Elizabeth, look at me!"

 

Suddenly, green eyes meet hers and she just knows who is holding her with so much love and care. Seeing James is like a signal for her tears to finally fall, no matter how hard she's trying to suppress their sting. And so, they pour over her flushed cheeks, akin to endless waterfalls, as she wraps her arms around the Omega, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The scent is soothing. Most Alphas tend to search for a familiar scent in times of distress and, if it just so happens that your mate isn't near, but one of your Omega friends is, then no one is judging. It is simply instinct.

 

They stay in the comforting warmth of their embrace for quite some time, neither wanting to break their peacefulness. A minute ticks by, two minutes, three, and, by the time James realises that they're sitting in a pool of blood, it is too late.


End file.
